


In the Afterlight

by fuckmeyer (garbanzosoprese)



Series: In the Afterlight [1]
Category: Twilight, Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bella Swan, Bella Swan with a Backbone, Canon Backstory, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Twilight Renaissance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 118,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbanzosoprese/pseuds/fuckmeyer
Summary: Twilight, but. Bella grew a backbone after years of caring for Rene, escaped from Phoenix back to her hometown over fears that she screwed up her future. She's got an eye for painting succulents and an ear for Elton John, a story that brought her to Forks and a story that keeps her there.Twilight, but Edward isn't a self-absorbed mindreader with anger issues. He worships big-band jazz instead of the idea of Bella, cares more about protecting her autonomy than her virtue, and loves revenge & fears time more than the average immortal should.Twilight, but with an equal, balanced relationship that's built on mutual interests and values instead of pretty eyes and tasty blood.Twilight. But not Twilight.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan
Series: In the Afterlight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806790
Comments: 277
Kudos: 443





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they meet

Chapter 1

This was the second time this year I was clambering into a police cruiser, but the first time I got in without it being under the pretense that I’d broken the law.

Shocker: I was in an awkward situation. Shotgun seat in Charlie’s car. Some nasally cop muttered through the police scanner. Ribbons of rain battered the windshield, but it wasn't not so bad — thick, tall trees loomed over us, shielding his rust-bitten car from the rain. What kept this mish-mosh soundscape in rhythm was the _kerchunk, kerchunk, kerchunk_ of waterlogged windshield wipers.

“Yep. Sure do look like your mother,” Charlie said.

And lemme just say, the conversation so far? Riveting. Ten-ten. 

Rene — Mom, now, I guess — said when I left that I wasn’t allowed to call him Charlie to his face. _He’s a police officer, Bella, he likes the whole “traditional households” shtick,_ she told me. I noticed the way her lips twitched when she spoke.

So here I was, stuck playing the teenager daughter. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Thanks. Dad."

We rode in silence through eons of damp, twisted road. Foliage loomed above us like elders, cloaked in green. Did sunshine even exist here?

'Here' was Forks, by the way. Washington. And to anyone and everyone I met along the way who replied, 'Forks? Where's that?' My answer was, and still continued to be: "Honestly? Who the hell knows."

Long story short, Google said it was small town tucked away in the tippity-top corner of the state, of the country. In terms of size, the closest I'd come to living in someplace like Forks was Sedona, Arizona. In terms of climate, the closest I'd ever come to living in the damp lushness of Forks since childhood was Presidio Park in San Francisco.

“So? How’s Rene?”

“Hysterical.” But what’s new? “She says hi.”

“Oh. Hi,” he replied, as if I was a phone. “Hysterical?”

“I mean it’s not like she wanted me to leave,” I said, playing with a loose fabric on my new sweater. I’d be wearing a lot more of them now that I wasn’t living in sunny Phoenix. Ugh. “She just, y’know….”

“Wants a more rooted lifestyle for you. I get it.” Did he? Because I was sure Rene told him nothing. Embarrassed of her 'untraditional household' shtick, I guess. Charlie had no idea that coming here was my own plea deal.

 _You need more structure in your life,_ she sobbed. _I know that’s not something I can give you…_

There were three things Charlie hated talking about: Renee, feelings, and the Pittsburgh Steelers. So when I didn’t open my mouth, he coughed and let the silence drag into oblivion.

I watched the scenery instead. Picked up the shapes along the highway. Rain-slicked roads twisted through dense forests, their leaves dead and matted, sickly from the rain. It was pervasive here, the wet. And cold. And the nasally cop over the scanner drilled into my head. 

Charlie shifted his weight and accelerated. Glanced at me. Slouched over again. We were now going the speed limit, first time since the airport. I checked. 

“Billy Black? Remember him?”

My mind rifled through the various memories of indistinct faces cooing, _Oh, look at you, I remember when you were_ this _tall!_ before going blank. “No.”

“Oh, c’mon, you remember. From La Push! Right? We used to go fishing with him and Jacob and Rachel? And Caitlin?”

Fishing. “Yeah.”

That would explain why I didn’t remember him. I did a good job of blocking painful experiences—i.e., fishing, Forks, etc.—out of my memory.

“Well, anyway,” Charlie continued, “he’s in a wheelchair now, so he’s offered to sell me his truck for cheap.”

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. His fingers tap and flit over the steering wheel.

"Well, Jacob did a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

Oh, hell no. I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily.

"When did he buy it?"

"Er — not that old. Early eighties. When he bought it.” I raised my eyebrow. “Built in the early sixties, maybe late fifties. Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

 _The Thing._ Alright, Charlie. Don't sell it too hard.

It wasn't until we swung into the driveway of my new living arrangement that I saw what he meant.

Charlie kept a small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage—the only days. Parked on the street by Charlie’s house stood my “new” truck.

 _The Thing._ With its peeling red paint and ripped passenger seat, it looked like it had seen the rise and fall of empires.

 _So_ badass.

“Holy shit,” I murmured, bursting out of the police wagon, “that’s awesome.”

“Hey now, watch the language there,” Charlie said. The engine died and his keys jangled in his hand.

No wonder Rene left him. She was a colorful woman, if I’ve ever met one.

“Sorry. Hey, Ch—Dad, this is great. Thanks a lot, seriously.” My hands roamed the frame of the truckbed. Flakes of a poppy-red paint job embedded in my palm. Amazing. I love it. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Already taken care of.”

“What? No, seriously, you...you didn’t have to do that. I was gonna pay for it, really,” I said, chest tightening.

“Well, consider it a gift,” he replied, muffled from the backseat. He had my dufflebag slung over his shoulder when he slammed the car door. “A homecoming gift.” Another peek in my direction.

Homecoming gift? Really? The last time I’d permanently lived here was when I was, oh, one-and-a-half or so. I visited a lot, but even then, those stopped after I turned eight.

“Thanks,” I said, fighting a grimace.

“Welcome," he mumbled, blushing.

And so Bella and Charlie kicked off the father-daughter bonding.

Welcome to your new life, me.

I guess a good thing about living with Rene was that it was impossible to keep too many belongings. All my stuff made it upstairs in one trip.

First door on the right—my room. Since infancy, actually. Only three things had changed since my baby days: the desk, the big-kid bed, and the packed, dusty bookshelf.

Other than that, it remained unchanged. Light blue walls, yellowed lace curtains. Even the rocking chair from my baby days stood in the corner. 

Well. Still better than a couch in the living room, I guess.

Charlie didn’t hover. It was nice to be alone — no tossed smiles, no pleased expressions. Only my dejected staring out the window, watching as the ribbons of rainwater clung and fell from the window pane. If I was a hardcore teenager, I probably would’ve made a remark about how the tears on the windowpane were like the tears flooding my soul.

I’d probably make up some dramatic story about how, that night, I sobbed to the ceiling in bed about how my life was over now that I was attending a school with three-hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students.

But I'd be lying. If I had cried for every time I’d relocated on account of my mother, I’d have enough tears to float Noah’s next Ark.

As it was, I grew up with a healthy diet of _Buck up, Buttercup_. Rene's favorite catchphrase. Even though she gets pissed when you say it back.

Instead of the crying, I sprawled on the bed, sketching in a notebook, thinking, _wow. Yeah. This is kinda shitty.  
_

All in all, honestly? Things weren't so bad. At least it wasn't Phoenix, taking care of Rene. At least it wasn’t Sunrock Valley, the prep school Rene threatened to charge to a Discover card.

_“Maybe if we enrolled you there, you wouldn’t be, be —”_

Be what, Rene? Huh? Making art?

_“You know I support you but Jesus, Bella! Vandalism, really?!”_

Was it dumb? Yes. Insensitive? Hell yes. The moment I got on the plane, I knew I shouldn't have broken her heart like that, leaving her. I could talk myself in circles about how immature I had been, but We both needed help. Stability.

The only difference was that I sought it. She found hers in a relationship.

“Can I help you?”

Reality snapped to my attention to a dingy school office with a plump woman shuffling papers at her desk. Waiting. For me. _A single cup of coffee after a sleepless night? Are you out of your f—_

“Uh, yeah. Hi. I’m Isabella Swan.”

Awareness lit the dull shadows of her irises. _Ah yes, the new gossip had arrived._ “Of course. Lemme just get your stuff.” She pushed her chair to the precarious stack of papers behind her and dug through the bureaucratic sludge. “Here we go—now. This is gonna be your class schedule _—_ we have alternating A-B days so, flip the page? You got your schedule. Page 1? A-day. Page 2? B-day. A, B. Got it?"

I fought against making some joke about Forks High's rigorous academic curriculum. "Yeah."

"And, uh, _—_ oh, here's a map of the school to help you out. I took the liberty of labeling where your classes are, hope you don’t mind. Here’s your ID, too—it’s a temp one until we can get a photo of you, but this will get you into the lunchroom. We don’t have fancy weapon detectors here, but you’ll have to check in with me when —”

“Sorry I’m late Mrs. Lansen,” said a guy that, at my old school, would’ve probably gotten beat up just for looking funny. He shook the rain out of his oil-slick black hair and stuck his hand out. “Hi. Sorry. You’re Isabella, right? I’m Eric.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, too aware that the rainwater in combination with his grip made his hand feel like an actual fish. “Actually, it’s —” Bella. I’d always gone by Bella.

“What?”

“Uh — no, nothing, nevermind. Are you like here to help me or something?”

“Yes!” chirped Mrs. Lansen. “We had agreed on him being here at seven-thirty, but I guess he had more important things to do. He’s here to show you around, meet a few people, that sort of thing. And he’s in a few of your classes so —”

I’ll never be alone. Oh. Cool.

“You’re gonna love Mrs. Lansen,” Eric said as we walked to the first building. “Trust me, the passive-aggressive comments get worse the more you’re late coming back from lunch. That’s when real fun starts.” I nodded, and silence crept over our conversation. The shuffle and chatter of students filled our silence. “So it’s a lot different than Forks, huh? Arizona?”

"Very."

"Does it rain at all?"

"Rarely."

"Wow, what’s that like?"

"Sunny.”

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is one-fifteenth albino." He studied my face, and I sighed. If I wasn’t in such desperate need for companionship, I would’ve just dropped it, but: “It’s a joke. I’m just really white. I don’t know why.”

“Oh. Well, uh, I mean, it looks good. With your hair. It stands out. Like, being red and all. I dunno how to say it. I’m not big on...hair.”

“I get it.” I tossed a smile at him. “Thanks.”

He exhaled relief through his nostrils and paired it with a sheepish smile. “Yeah.” Connoisseur of conversation, ladies and gentlemen.

Mornings already suck when you don’t have to introduce yourself to half a school, but who needs normal mornings when you could introduce yourself to the entire senior class? So between the syllabi and the gawking teachers and the “I’ll-just-take-forty-quick-peeks” students, believe me, I was having a ball.

After two classes, I recognized several faces. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions, mostly about how I was liking Forks. I lied a lot and had to be consistent about it to boot. Jesus, this school is small.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She measured up to my shoulders, but her curly dark hair helped her height. I couldn't remember her name — something with a J? — so I smiled and nodded as she blabbed.

At lunch, we sat at the end of a full table with her friends. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the lunchroom and, oh good, here he came now, just when I thought I would start missing his face.

While trying to make conversation with nameless faces, my eye caught the oddest, prettiest people of my life. All five sat in the corner of the cafeteria—not talking, not eating, just tucked away, like extras in a movie. Of the three boys, one was big—muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair and piercing stark eyes. Another was taller, leaner, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than all the others, who looked like they could easily pass for college kids.

The two ladies had that same sexy sheen to them as the guys did. The tallest one loomed, golden hair tumbling down her back. The shorter one had a thick, pixie haircut and limbs that looked fragile as paper.

Here was the weirdest thing, though: they looked nothing alike. Yet, number one, they were all collectively drop-dead gorgeous; and, two, all had dark irises framed with purple-y under-eye shadows.

What? Like, how does that even happen? Was it a coincidence? Were they a clique? A cult?

"Who are they?" I asked the curly-haired girl—Jessica.

When she followed my eyes, the boyish guy looked up as if he had been called. He glanced at my neighbor, then his dark eyes flickered to mine. I dropped my eyes immediately. Making eye contact with strangers makes me uncomfortable.

“The rich kids,” Eric butted in. The whole table snickered, feeling superior in the fact that their parents made less money.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did. "That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife," Jessica said. I glanced at the messy-haired guy again, who was picking bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. He talked to the table. “Honestly, everybody thinks they’re so great and I have no idea why.”

I mean, judging by the table’s reaction, it sounded like they were just the rich white kids everyone hated. Which made sense. They looked pretty hate-able. “They’re all...pretty,” I said, as if trying to dig for the biggest understatement of all-time.

"Wow, sorry, but they, like, completely destroy the word ‘pretty’," she said with a nervous giggle. “Like, no offense, but like—wow.”

“They’re the kind of people that have the genes that humanity needs but doesn’t deserve,” Jessica’s friend Angela snorted between bits of bread. Eric snickered over his tray.

Jessica ignored them. “But, like, they're all together though — Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they like, live together. I don’t know. It’s weird." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town. Everyone else at the table leaned in and murmured. As much as it felt like being around a pack of clucking hens, I gotta admit, even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Wait, which ones are the Cullens again?" I asked. "They don't look related…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is super young, in his thirties or something. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins — the blondes — and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children." And for high-schoolers.

"They are now. Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something? I mean like, I’ve never actually asked them about it but that’s just what I hear, you know."

"That's pretty cool that they take care of all those kids when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica said. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though.” As if her not having kids was a knock against the woman.

Throughout this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at each other and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

“Damn—Alaska to _this place_?” I blurted out and burst out laughing. “No wonder they’re so pale.”

As I examined them, the youngest looked up and met my gaze again, this time with curiosity. We locked eyes. With his lips twisted and brow furrowed, he looked dissatisfied. It unnerved me.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me. _—Damn._ I looked down again.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed. “Honestly, like, I’ve heard he’s kind of a jerk about it.”

I wrestled with my own smile. “Did you guys have a thing, or…?”

Of course they didn’t. The disdain was so thick, it could be felt across state lines. I’d like to think that that’s why Edward Cullen turned his face away to smile, but I was amused enough for the both of us regardless. “Well, I mean, like, I had tried, you know, when he first came here, getting him engaged and stuff in the community. And I was like ‘hey,’ like, ‘we should get to know each other maybe because you guys seem really cool and whatever,’ and he was all like…”

And she really tried to spin it a million different ways—oh, he was stuck-up, he didn’t like being here, he was too quiet for me, he probably couldn’t handle a relationship anyway, I mean he’s been alone the whole time since he’s been here, blah blah…. Truthfully, I’d just chalk it up as a personal failure and move on, but hearing her shovel the blame on him through bits of nonfat Greek yogurt, ‘like’s, and hand waves was entertaining in itself.

I didn’t notice when the four had left their table until, when leaving myself, I walked past the empty corner.

Stopped.

Hang on.

That table was spotless. No gravy stains, used napkins, or even so much as a litter of crumbs. Not even under the seats _._

_Did they even end up eating their lunch? They had trays, didn't they?_

I said goodbye to Jessica, Eric, and the rest of the table—whoever they were. Angela had Biology II with me, so we walked together. She was chill—and, okay, maybe I was saying that because she barely said two words to me. But at that point in the day, that was exactly what I needed.

“You like art?”

 _Damn._ “Um, yeah. How'd you guess?”

“The red,” Angela gestured with her head as we entered the classroom, “on your fingernails.”

"Oh. Right." I grinned, glancing at them. Over the noise of classroom chatter, I said, “Trying to figure out if it’s blood?”

She laugh-snorted, blushed. “N-no, really, I just—sorry. Um. Uh, well, I was just _—_ curious.”

"Yeah. No worries. It's just spraypaint."

"What'd you spraypaint?"

I sat down on the lab stool next to her and she shifted awkwardly in her seat. It felt contagious. "Uh...murals. Art."

“That's cool." More awkwardness. "Uh— this spot— Mr. Banner has assigned seats, so….”

“Right.” Of course. Assigned seats. God forbid we get to pick our own. The chair squeaked undearneath me as I got up to ask puny Mr. Banner about my dumb seat.

At the very least, he signed my slip and handed me a book with no class-wide introduction. Cool. Okay. We could get along.

Until he marked me on the seating chart at the only open spot. Right next to the Cullen guy. Which, don't get me wrong, seemed like a fine choice.

Until I turned around.

Then I realized, _Oh wait, actually, Mr. Banner totally screwed me._

Because when I looked up to find my seat, he was already staring at me. Cullen. His eyes—dark like a black hole, like the pits of hell, like the middle of the night, take your pick—drilled through mine.

Seriously. Screw this guy. My eyes bore back into his as I walked towards him. The closer I got, the more rigid his muscles became. The tighter his jaw wired. The deeper the frown grew.

My heart pounded, but I licked my lips anyway and opened my mouth. “My name’s Bells—s, is, Isabella.” _Nice going, idiot. This was supposed to be a new start._

I thumped my stuff on the lab table, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he nodded at me, pretending to focus on the fascinating laminate poster of the parts of a cell. Whatever.

But here was the only guy in this entire school who stuck out. Not only did he refuse to speak to me, but looked genuinely unhappy that I was attending this school. Did this jerk even know me? And who the hell was this guy anyway, to look so offended in my presence?

Half the lecture was spent being angry. Then I thought, this jerk was winning. He was. Because he was trying to put me in a bad mood purposefully. So I took deep breaths. And then I thought, _Wait, do I smell?_ Was I having one of those overly-sweaty teenager days? Did he resent me for smelling horrible? So I pressed my chin to my shoulder and sniffed. Quite frankly, I smelled awesome. So I don't know; I don't get it.

Conclusion: this jerk was a jerk. Mystery, history.

But I couldn't stop myself from peeking through the screen of my hair at the boy next to me. Like an idiot. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair. He kept the hand on his left leg clenched, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed.

The last time I peeked, I regretted it. He glared down at me, black eyes repulsed. 

Cullen rose right at the bell. He was out the door before anyone was out of their seat.

I sat frozen, staring blankly after him. He was so...mean. It wasn't fair. I sucked in a breath, but tears still pricked the back of my eyes. Which made me even angrier. Why can’t I just be angry and _look_ angry, dammit?

It was nice that I had gym that next period.

Let me clarify: I hate gym. Everything about it. I hate the team sports and having to pick partners for things and getting tested on how long you can hang from a stupid bar. I hate tripping and falling on my face and getting a terrible mile time and wearing stupid gym clothes that had obnoxious school colors on them. I hate, hate, hate gym.

At my last school, you did two years, bam, done. Here it was all four years.

No joke. Forks was turning into my personal hell.

But, in some lukewarm, silver lining, we had the option to take weightlifting in lieu of class. Charlie signed off quick. Believing in “traditional households” meant that Charlie would _want_ me to get swole in the name of protecting my virginity. Probably.

So, silver lining: I took my anger out on dumbbells. Ten-pounders, but still.

And after thirty minutes, Cullen’s face faded from my head. So I picked other things to be mad about. The police officers who caught me vandalizing the foreclosed factory on the other side of town. Mom, for not letting me go without me leave Phoenix without my having to resort to vandalism. Me, for not being fast enough or strong enough to run away.

I looked scrawny. I really did. My arms and legs were like sticks of raw spaghetti. If anything fell on me, I’d probably shatter in a thousand pieces.

When the final bell rang, I was still slipping on my shirt, arms dead tired.

I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. And maybe I could have a discussion with Lansen, tell her the Biology II thing really wasn't working out so maybe she could place me in the dumb kids' Biology instead?

The rain had drifted away, but the wind blustered. I wrapped my arms around myself. When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. He didn't notice the sound of my entrance. I crossed my arms. His voice murmured low and sweet, but Mrs. Lansen kept shaking her head. He leaned in. When eavesdropping, I heard the push in his voice. He argued with her. Trying to trade his sixth-hour Biology slot to another class. Any other class.

“Wow,” I muttered, _“really?”_

The door opened again. Cold wind gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. Cullen whipped around and glared like he had heard me. Shadows clawed at the skin under his eyes. Hair on my arms raised. In less than a second, his glare dissolved, and he turned back to the desk. I couldn’t stop replaying his expression in his head. The way his brow unfurrowed and knit. The way the gleam in his eyes changed.

"Never mind, then," he said in a velvet voice. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." Cullen turned on his heel without looking at me and disappeared out the door. I handed the woman my slip and she asked me how my first day went. I said fine. The answer satisfied her.

When I got to The Thing, it was one of the few cars left in the lot. It seemed like a haven, the warmest refuge I had in this damp green hole. I stared out the windshield.

With my nails digging into The Thing's steering wheel, I fought back tears the whole way back to Charlie's house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they speak

The next day was better. And worse.

  
Better because, though dense clouds blanked the town, it didn’t rain. Because people didn’t look at me as much. Because even though my lunch group was different than my Phoenix group, I had people to sit by. Because the whole day felt like treading water, instead of drowning in it.

  
It was worse because purple rings hung around my eyes. Wind blustered and echoed around the house. All night. It’s cool. I’m not bitter. I just thought, you know, with my experience sleeping through car horns and sirens and my neighbor’s latin music, it wouldn’t be so bad. But here I was, falling asleep in Trig and getting called out by Mr. Varner. Here I was, knees shaking during my squats.

  
And also because — I don’t even know why I’m saying this — Edward Cullen wasn’t at school.

  
During my shower last night, I thought of all the ways I could confront him. Giving him a pop to the jaw was at the top of my list, but after a while, I had to face facts: juvie wasn’t worth it, and my arms were sore. So then I thought, I could call him out next time. And I imagined all these scenarios in my head. Ones where he just stared and I would say one of those instigators I learned in New Mexico, like, “The fuck are you looking at?” But those phrases seemed like they’d lead me to the punching scenario, so I had to drop them.

  
Long story short, my solution was to give him the cold shoulder. It was a sucky plan. I mean, I really wanted to punch that guy in the face. But I promised Rene that I wouldn’t get in trouble. And since she’s never been big on promises, I have to be.

  
Cullen’s not being there made it easy to keep the promise, but dammit, I wanted some action! I mean, I’d make sure to keep it peaceful, but I wasn’t about to take crap some some guy who didn’t even know who I was.

  
He never showed. Not at lunch, not at Biology. Probably for the best. As the days slipped by, I found my violent Plan A knocked down a few pegs. Okay, it wasn’t right to punch people in the face. Okay, he’s probably sick, so maybe getting in his face would just make me a bitch and give me the flu.

  
Plan B and Plan C fell away. Either he switched classes, was deathly ill, or he was a mastermind genius trying to dismantle all my defenses. Regardless, screw that guy. He was gross.

“Ew,” I said to Angela. A week after my first day of school, we stood under the metal roof connecting the lunchroom with the science wing, watching snowflakes fall.

  
“Don’t like snow?”

  
“Snow means it’s too cold for rain.”

  
Angela chuckled. “When I was a kid, my parents would take me and all my siblings sledding at this one hill in La Push — Have you been there? — I cried like every year.”

  
It was one of the first real laughs from my chest. “Charlie’s not a snow guy, but we did go out hunting in La Push and there was —” a snowball exploded on the wall behind us; we flinch. Eric and another guy that sat at our table, Mike, sparred with snowballs.

  
“Doesn't that hurt?” I asked her. “The snow?”

  
“You’ve never been in a snowball fight?”

  
“No. Never. Mom likes warm climates.”

  
“Lucky.”

  
Laughter thrummed through our pavillion. You knew it was the Cullens laughing, too, because their laughs lilted in harmony. My eyes caught them coming up behind us. The other two Cullens, Jasper and Emmett, were soaked with snow. Their fingers had combed trenches through their hair. Alice and Rosalie yelped when Emmett shook his hair out next to them. They looked like they were in some teen movie. Weird.

  
As they passed us, Eric wrapped his wet, chilly hands around our shoulders and murmured, “Hey. Listen. Didju guys hear? Emmett got suspended for putting a live lobster into Jell-O dessert in Food Science — Angela, we gotta get that story for the paper.”

  
“Eric...Emmett’s still in school. He’s literally behind you.” As she wrinkled her nose and chattered about the details with him, we entered the lunchroom in front of the Cullen pack. From their corner, I could see Edward, cheeks dewy, eyes glittering, smiling, warmly — at me.

  
My whole world fell away. I blinked, startled, stopped. When I met his eyes again, they were looking behind me.

  
“Excuse me.” A light, lilting voice said behind me and I spun around. Breathless. Of the small pixie-haired girl with the downturned teardrop eyes that glittered like boiling honey. Staring.

  
Fuck. “S-sorry.”And I stepped out of the way. Of course. Starting. He was staring at the Cullens who were literally right behind us. Of course he was looking at them. Idiot.

  
Or was I? Halfway through lunch, Jessica turned to me and said in a low voice, “Edward Cullen is staring at you.” So maybe I wasn’t imagining things?

  
I glanced over at him. His head was already turning, but not quick enough. I could see the smirk on his lips. Rat bastard.

  
“Dude’s weird,” I said to her, not taking my eyes off my salad.

  
“Why?”

  
“He straight-up hates me. No idea why. I haven’t even spoken to him.”

  
“Girl, that’s the Cullens. They don't like anybody.”

  
I huffed an annoyed sigh. “And you don’t find that weird?”

  
“Of course I find it weird. Everyone finds it weird. Why do you think they only talk to each other?” Jessica rolled her eyes like she was disappointed in herself for conceding this point: “I mean like, they’re polite. They’re nice. People like them and everything. They just keep to themselves. Like, they probably won’t be mean to you, but don’t bother trying to have a conversation with them. You can never get anywhere.”

  
So it was better to just forget about it, right? I mean, there were people who actually wanted me around. My lunch table, for example, who invited me out to go to La Push Ocean Park with them in a couple weeks.

  
Well, Eric invited me. Then Jess extended the invitation to Angela, and I wondered, with a rising sense of embarrassment, if we’d been the only two who hadn’t been invited yet.

  
Still, the whole table encouraged us to go. La Push wasn’t getting snow like Forks, and these next couple weekends would start getting warmer, the first push away from winter.

  
So whatever. I said I’d go. I’m a strong, independent woman who does stuff with her friends and doesn’t give a shit about Edward Cullen’s stupid face.

  
I wired my jaw shut on the way to Biology II. My stomach flipped. Relief bloomed over my tense muscles. My table was empty, save for a microscope and a box of slides. Neat-o. Cullen would skip again, and I’d get to do cool microscope stuff by myself. Win-win.

  
Minutes passed. I sketched over the color of my notebook. Succulents. Once, my ex-best friend Georgi and I found an alley, red bricks blank. A vandal’s dream. She drew a safari. I created a succulent garden. The light green stood stark against the red. My favorite project ever, and the last one I ever completed.

  
I heard his footsteps. “Hello.” I greeted him without looking up — if only to show him how petty and awful he was. Maybe that was petty of me. Either way, he started it, and no one could blame me for not being civil.

  
“Hi there.”

  
Wait, what? I looked up.

  
He sat as far away from me as the table allowed, but he angled his chair toward me. Beads of melting snow slid off his hair. He was still smiling. Still glowing. "My name is Edward Cullen," he said. His voice sounded as smooth as the Sunday Night Slow-Jam station back home. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bells — no, Isabella, right? Isabella Swan?"

  
My mind spun. Who was this guy? Seriously, I wasn’t lying when I said that he looked like he actually wanted to murder me. Had I made the whole thing up? “Whichever. — How’d you know? My name?”

  
“You told me.”

  
“R-right.”

  
Mr. Banner started class. It gave me time to reevaluate my confrontation plan. New Plan A: talk to this guy like a normal human being, because he’s being nice and I like not having to hate him.  
More than that. I mean, the guy had his own orbit. Under his gravitational spell, my nerves crackled like live wires, my attention shifted permanently to my left — he was all I could smell, all I could listen t—

  
"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. He beamed. I tossed him my weakest smile. Glanced around. Microscope. Slides. Right. Biology. I grabbed it from him and popped in the slide.

  
Well, well. If it isn’t my Biology I assignment from last year. I smirked “Prophase.”

  
"Do you mind if I look?"

  
Son of a bitch. “Be my guest.”

  
When I passed the microscope, our hands touched. Nerves in my hand sparked. I pulled back. His fingers were cold as snow. They burned a trail into the side of my hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pulling his hand back. Our microscope stood untouched for a moment before he grabbed it with his other hand. "Prophase.” Duh. He jotted it on our worksheet. Edward switched slides and glanced at it for no more than a second. "Anaphase.”

  
“Do you mind if I look?” I thought he wouldn’t catch my mocking him, but I saw the flicker of a smirk.

  
“Why of course,” he said, so genteel we probably both wanted to vomit. “Something wrong? He asked, lilting.

  
I didn’t want to tell this guy that I was waiting for a pass to punch him. When I caught his eyes, I — wait a second. “Did — did your eyes change color?”

  
“Hm?”

  
Last time they were black—maybe a dark brown. They looked back, the way they stood striking against his pale skin. Maybe it was the weird fluorescents, maybe it was the flush of color in his cheeks that off-set the color? Whatever the case, they were different today. Gold flecked from his irises like an eclipse spilling sunlight. “Your eyes. Did you get contacts?”

  
“Yes,” he said, no hesitation, without looking at me. “I did.”

  
Really? Honestly, I’d thrown out that suggestion because I didn’t know what the hell else it could be. Now that I was thinking about it, how would that make sense? Wait — didn’t his sister have gold contacts too? She did, right?

  
I didn’t respond, and his pursed lips rendered him inhospitable.

  
We finished the worksheet in silence. Afterward, I continued sketching my beautiful plants.

  
“So, you miss Phoenix?”

  
Wait, are we actually talking? “What?”

  
“I noticed the succulents.”

  
“Oh. Um. Yeah. Kinda. I mean. I sorta moved around a lot. But Phoenix was a good spot.” Where did he get that info, that I’m from Phoenix? It’s not like succulents are to Phoenix what sourdough bread is to San Francisco. “Most people think it’s just a desert. But there’s life there, too. Succulents.” Wow. Smooth. “I took joyrides out into the desert to draw them.”

  
“May I ask why you moved here? I know Chief Swan lives here, but….”

  
“It’s — complicated.”

  
“I can keep up.”

  
I sucked in my cheeks. When Rene saw me getting out of the cruiser, I didn’t look at her. I watched the way her tears fell down her face, how they forced trails and, as the crying got worse, how they veined across her cheeks. How the tears dripped off her chin. Everyone and everything made my mother cry. But not me. Never me.

  
“She got remarried.”

  
Ah. You don’t like her spouse?”

  
“Nah, Phil’s a good guy.” When Rene told him about the spray painting, he didn’t say anything. His lips pursed, but he promised Rene that she could raise her child “her way;” he had a child of his own he was fighting custody for, so he understood. Except Rene’s way of raising a child was to have the child raise her. So yeah, he was disappointed — I could see that in the way he crossed his thick, hairy arms, the way he look down at me from that awful mustache.

  
Neither of them said anything; they didn’t get it. But before I left for Forks, after my mother had gone to the car crying and before my flight hit the electronic boards, I told Phil: listen, whatever happens, make Rene happy. If nothing else. She’s a big traveller, loves it, but she can’t take care of the details. Don’t let her make breakfast sandwiches by herself. — Oh, and don’t let her forget she’s got dry cleaning to pick up on Friday. Be sure to pay the rent a few days early this month so we can get Mrs. Jones off our backs. — Off her back, I mean.

  
And I think he understood. His eyebrows pulled up, relaxed. I think he knew why I had to go. It was the best for the both of us. Rene and myself.

  
“What are you thinking about?” Edward blurted out. My head snapped towards him. “I apologize. I — like to know what people are thinking.”

  
"It’s fine. I, uh — yeah, I like Phil. Plays ball for a living."

  
"Have I heard of him?"

  
"Probably not. He’s minor league. Minor minor. Moves around a lot."

  
"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him."

  
“No. I sent myself.”

  
“I’m not sure I understand.”

  
I sighed, cherry-picking my words. “She, uh, wouldn’t make the choice. To send me away. So I took away the choice.”

  
“You ‘took away the choice?’”

  
“It sounds Italian-mob-ish, but I’m not a bad kid.”

  
“I never said you were a bad kid.” He glanced away. “But it sounds like you were doing ‘bad kid’ things.” I chuckled. “Am I wrong?”

  
“It’s contentious.”

  
“‘Contentious,’” he teased. “That doesn’t sound promising.” What a grating way for Edward to extract information. Successful, but still.

  
“It was an immature way to handle a situation. I know that. I knew that. — But she wasn’t happy there, in Phoenix. She was trying to do the whole ‘mom’ thing, and I appreciated it, and I love her, but she’s not momish. And to relegate me to the ‘child’ role after years of —” sigh “— Forget it. Point is, that woman’s as stubborn as a flock of ox.” That was another one of Rene’s catchphrases. Mainly used to describe me.

  
“So you take care of her,” Edward said.

  
That grating line of questioning finally ground me down to nerves. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not about to tell you my life story.” My heart hammered, and I found myself saying, “Especially if you’re switching classes on me.” Bam. Spicy. How d’you like me now, Cullen?

  
Edward’s face fell. “I’m not. And I apologize if you — if I seemed a little unwelcoming. I was angry. Not at you. On an unrelated note, my siblings and I usually take all our classes together. I thought I could get an AP Chem spot with my sister, Alice. It didn’t materialize. But whatever you thought my intention was, I never meant to offend you.”

  
Color flushed to my cheeks. Sure, it was no black eye, but seeing the apology in his eyes, hearing it….It made me feel pretty good. Not gonna lie. It’s like a punch to the face but without the bruised knuckles. “I accept your apology,” I said, a touch cooler than I wanted.

  
When the bell rang, Edward rushed gracefully out the door as he had last Monday. It almost made me hate him. Even when he’s wrong, he still walks like he’s right.

And once he was out of the way, out of sight, out of earshot, something hit me. The stress of...everything. My stomach churned and I barged my way into the nearest girls’ bathroom, setting my forearms on the water-stained counter and learning over the porcelain sink. Breathing.

  
Rene told me not to go. She said it wouldn’t be healthy. It would be dangerous. And I rolled my eyes because — what, suddenly Forks is somehow more dangerous than shadowing my mother to make sure the burners don’t get left on, to make sure the apartment door isn’t unlocked when she comes home stumbling drunk at three in the goddamn —

  
“Bells?”

  
That lilt. A voice I recognized but didn’t know.

  
I cracked my eyes open and slid them to the threshold. Where Edward’s little sister stood. Alice. The pixie. Bony, smooth fingers flighty on the bathroom tile, tapping. Unsettling. Mesmerizing.

  
What was there to say? “Uh, you know me?”

  
The dark red of her lips, the color of Snow White’s poisoned apple, flicked into a nervous smile. “Sort’ve. Can we...talk?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she's saved

I stood speechless. Her voice hypnotized me to silence. Stirred me with its lilting tone. And through the murky haze I saw her head cock. I perked up.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “What’s, what’s up?”

She inhaled, slight, with a faraway look in her eyes. And while she used her hands to guide her near the sink, inches from me, she said, “So, I think you should skip gym.”

A pause. Then I laughed. “You read my mind.”

Honestly? Total knee-jerk response, it wasn’t meant to be a joke. But Alice’s peal of laughter rang as a shock into the tiny confines of the bathroom. And it wasn’t like one of those fake “hahas” either, which really threw me for a loop.

“Oh, you’re just perfect,” she giggled, clapping her hands and lacing her fingers. And I’ve been caught completely off-guard. “I can see why Edward is so a — Uh, anyway, listen, we don’t have a lot of time. A minute and forty-six seconds, actually. I encourage you to set a timer.” I stumbled over a laugh but she did no such thing. So as I fumbled with my phone to pull up a timer, Alice sighed and thrummed her fingers on the sink and said, “Make it thirty-two.”

I hit ‘Start’.

And she continued. “Don’t ask me how I know. But. I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna be great friends.” Pause. “I can see you’re weirded out, that’s fine, totally understandable. And I know this is weird. But just, as a friend — future friend — you should really skip gym and just head out for the day.”

Silence. Still no laughter. “Wait, you mean you’re serious?” Alice bit her lip, canine poking out of the corner, and clasped her hands —a _pleasepleaseplease_. “I mean, honestly, as tempting as it is, I probably won’t. I sorta had a rough semester. So.”

And she looked down. Inhaled. “And you’re applying to Dartmouth, right?” Maybe it was meant to be friendly, but when her thorn-toothed smile tore across her lips, my heart chugged into my throat and froze in place. The harsh fluorescent lights carved shadows in her smile.

“Uh — uh yeah, thinking about it. Kinda. How’d you know?”

“People talk.”

“I never said anything.”

“Right.”

I glanced down. Forty-seven seconds. “Um. Okay. So why am I heading out early?”

“If you need an excuse, just say you’re sick or s—”

“No, I mean, why would I need to head out early? Like what’s going to happen to me?”

Alice had this odd habit of looking into the distance every time I said something, every time she responded. Like the air held answers. It made conversing with her stilted, silence-heavy, and, honestly? Odd. Not odd in the sense of awkward. Alice was too quick for awkward. Before the before the silence grew wide, her eyes zipped back to mine and she smiled without teeth. “It’s — complicated. There are...a lot of...moving parts. In gym.”

“O-kay.” I chuckled. “So what, is there, like, a surprise mile run in gym today?” Quick glance: seventeen seconds.

And then it all spilled out of her like an overflowing sack of beans: “Look. This is totally odd and I have no way of knowing this but there’s something — and for some reason you’re just hard to see, but — there are things I know and you should really take my advice. Okay?”

“When should I leave?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “If you’re gonna skip class, you might as well go all in.”

The door flew open as my alarm went off. I flinched and fumbled with it and tried to avoid the gaze of the gorgeous, redwood-tall blond woman looming in the doorframe. Staring. At us.

“Alice.” And the windchime voice tore my flushed face away from my sneakers. To the charcoal eyes of Alice’s sister — what was her name? Rosalyn? No, Rosalie? “Edward and I want to know if you’re coming comp-sci?” When her eyes pierced mine, not only did I forget the name I thought she had, but I forgot my own name, who the hell Edward was, and the names of every noun in the known universe. She melted me into an intimidated puddle of nervous butterflies and primal fear. So I looked away and rubbed the back of my neck.

“Of course.” When she turned to me, away from Rose’s glare, she inhaled and did that middle-distance stare thing. A sly smile pulled at her lips and she purred, “I’d just hate to do anything that upsets you or Edward.”

“Then let’s get going.” Her snarled words followed on the heels of Alice’s. As she reached for Alice’s hand, Alice twirled out of the way and sauntered past her sister, singing, “Nice to meet you, Bells,” as they brushed shoulders.

Rosalie’s glare lingered on mine. This time, I could steel myself against her glare. Tough as it was. As sculpted and flawless as she looked, she looked — I don't know, maybe it was the harsh lighting — evil. Evil like Edward had looked that first day in Biology.

“You know, it’s funny,” said Rosalie, humorless, “how well she can interact. Considering.”

“C-con — considering what?”

The most human thing about this woman? The way her lips twitched at my question, like she was choosing from a million different answers. “Her schizoaffective disorder.”

Though I couldn't hear the click of her heels over the sound of the blood roaring through my ears, the talons were the last thing my eyes caught before the door slammed behind her.

My voice and thoughts didn’t catch up with me until after several minutes into my bicep curls. And even then, all I could say was, “What the fuck?”

What had just happened? Was Rosalie right about Alice’s mental health condition? But if she was, how did Alice predict with absolute _accuracy_ ….

And what did it mean for me?

Who knew. Point was, I followed Alice’s advice. I mean, sorta. Although I spent half the period trying to collect myself, trying to brush off Alice’s weirdly accurate timing to what Rosalie had told me. But I couldn’t. Her — I don't know, advice? Prediction? — haunted me until I had no choice but to fake some vague illness. So I grabbed my things and threw on my street clothes and hustled out.

Frosty ground crunched beneath me. My breath came in puffs of ice. Adjusting to Forks meant adjusting to snow. Adjusting to Forks meant getting cozy in my own personal hell. A fine layer of it dusted the parking lot like powdered sugar, undisturbed, save for the kids who had free periods and the delinquents, i.e., myself.

And, as I stumbled down the steps and scanned the parking lot, I spotted the Cullens. Well, two of them. Edward and Alice, who, by Rosalie’s account, should have had comp-sci this period, right? Instead, they stood planted at the far end of the parking lot, pointing fingers and waving hands like they were arguing. Edward looked more angry; Alice, more desperate.

I slid and stumbled to The Thing, catching myself on the side mirror. Bracing wind combed through my hair. Both of them turned at once. I darted my eyes away.

And as I tossed my backpack into the passenger side, a screech roared toward me.

A skidding van, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning across ice. Towards me. Towards my truck.

Synapses jolted and I dove, but a patch of ice found my foot and —

Just before the metallic crunch of the van could squish me dead, something jerked me backwards by the hoodie, hard. While my legs flailed out from underneath me and I fell into the cold arms of ice-white skin wearing a wool peacoat, the van spun backward in the opposite direction. My hands found my throat to loosen the pressure. I looked up. Golden-eyed Edward, glaring down at me.

“Shit shit _shit_.” High-pitched lilting. Alice. Standing near the headlights at the passenger side of the car, hand covering her mouth.

“You got cocky was what happened,” Edward fumed at her, as if she had asked a question. I skittered to my feet and scrambled out of his cold arms.

“I — you —” Which statement did I go for first? ‘You two were over at the other side of the parking lot; how the hell did you get here’? Or maybe, ‘That van was not coming at my truck at an angle that would make it bounce off that way.’ Or how about, ‘Was this what Alice was telling me about cutting out early’?

But no. It couldn't have been that one. For Alice kept glancing at her watch and pleading with Edward, “No, it’s not right, it’s not right, I didn’t mean for —”

My hands grazed the cool metal of The Thing’s hood. As I spoke, voice garbled, I watched faces poking into view in the windows of classrooms. Surveying the severity from the warm, cozy body of the school. “How did you stop the van? It was headed right for me.”

But though they had just inexplicably saved my life, neither of them acknowledged my presence.

“No,” snapped Edward at his sister, “you had your chance. Rose and I s _pecifically_ — I never asked you to decide what’s best for — No. This conversation is over.”

“What?” I croaked as they scooted away from me, not breaking eye contact with each other.

“Oh, my god!” I turned, they didn’t. The driver of the van had thrown his doors open and had his hands raking through his curly head, mouth agape. He hustled over to me. “Oh, god, Jesus, I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay?”

When I glanced back at the truckbed, it looked like the van had scraped it. Truthfully, the van looked more dinged up than The Thing did. There were two dents: one at the back of the van’s passenger side, where the body had hit my back right bumper. And the front, near the window, where — No. _There shouldn't be a second dent.  
_

I glanced at Edward and Alice, who were having their own hushed conversation. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“What happened? — I mean, I know I hit you, but I spun, and I, I don’t —”

“You hit the bumper at an angle,” I told him, adrenaline flooding my chest. Edward and Alice glanced at me; I could feel their eyes at the back of my neck. Whatever happened between us, they needed it covered-up. So why not do the job? “You spun out.”

“But I don’t — but — I thought I was headed right towards you,” said the driver, voice broken and panicked, and his fingers rubbed at his forehead creases. “And then your boyfriend —”

“No,” I told him, shaking my head. “You were seeing it at a different angle. I wasn’t in the way. None of us were. Luckily.” I flashed him a weak smile.

“Oh god, I’m so —”

“It’s okay, seriously —”

“And if you need the police or insurance or whatever to —”

“No,” I practically shouted, “no. No. Let’s not get them involved.” I shuddered at Charlie being called to the scene of an accident. My accident. “Besides, my truck wasn’t damaged. Water on the bridge. Okay?”

“Yeah,” the driver breathed. “Um — okay. Yeah. Should, should I at least get your information? Just in case or whatever?”

I glanced behind me. Alice and Edward were gone. Already. And I hadn’t noticed. And the driver hadn’t noticed. And when I looked over his shoulder, craned my neck to see around the van, the Cullen’s Tesla still sat in the same spot, blanketed by a fine powder. “Nope. No. It’s fine. Really.”

“My mom’s gonna kill me for the dents, oh man, I’m so sorr—”

“Hot water and a toilet plunger,” I told him, hopping into my truck. The engine grumbled out of its slumber and yawned through the exhaust. “Can you back out?”

By the time I veered out of the parking lot, the Tesla was still parked. Alice and Edward were nowhere to be found. They hadn't left anything behind but a set of tracks disintegrating in slush. And though it had crossed my mind before, it seemed a prominent, screaming fact now: the Cullens were more than weird. They were something else. But what?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they reject

For the rest of the week, I remained in everyone’s peripheral. Everyone’s except the Cullens’.

You know, Edward in particular is kind of a jerk. It sounds pretty obvious from the way I’m telling this story, but I’d like to reiterate how true it is.

The first day, as a thank-you, I brought in one of my succulent drawings—my second favorite, with pastel greens and blues. Wrote a note on the back. Set it down on his spot. When he found it, he stared at it for a while, and then put it in his folder. Nothing more. No “thanks.”

In class, he sat as far away from me as possible. Talked out of necessity. That was it.

Who does that? Seriously. It’s not like I did anything wrong.

Everyone knew the accident involved me, of course, because everyone knew I had a truck that was old enough to have its own AARP card. So they asked. _What happened out there? Were you with Edward? What’d he say?_

In my story, he was the hero. He had valiantly pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed himself. I mean, the whole school thought they were freaks; why not give them a bit of positive publicity?

And truthfully, I didn’t mention Alice. No one asked about her. And with her...freaky prediction, premonition, whatever — I wouldn’t know what to say, how to justify her being there.

Not only that, but if lunch period was any indication, Alice was not in school anymore.

So I kept their secrets and made him a hero and thanked him profusely — and I got silence. No words, no glances, no nothing. Great.

I greeted him in Bio, as usual, and got a curt nod in return. I slapped my books down and opened my mouth to speak. Instead of taking off his headphones, Edward turned up his music: Elvis Presley, “Return to Sender.” — He was a Presley fan? Wow. Surprising. Cool.

Eric made a beeline for me, dumping his stuff at the table. He hovered around my table for a while, talking about weather and other dumb things I didn’t care about. And just when he could tell that the light in my eyes had gone dead, he looked down at his fidgeting hands and let me know what was up.

"So, Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"Oh. Neat. That's great,” I told him. “You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica. She’s fun.”

"Yeah, well, same. I-I mean, I feel the same. — I mean. I’m fun. Too. — Haha. — Um...yeah, so, I told her I had to think about it.”

"What? Why? Kinda rude to keep her on the hook."

His ears flared red, and he stared at the science wing doors. “W-well, I jus, y’know, I. You’re new here, maybe you don’t, y’know, know a lot of people, so like, I thought like since I was your guide-person, uh, if you wanted someone to go to the dance with, maybe. Uh. I would give you, uh, the opportunity. To ask me. To be your — guide-person. Hah. — To, to the dance. Since, y’know. Sadie-hawkins. A-and feminism. And stuff.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know he’d liked me. But there were probably signs I misinterpreted or forgot. I guess now that I’m thinking about it, it makes sense. He texted every day. Laughed at my jokes. Asked me if I needed his jacket or an extra soda at lunch. Oh god.

Oh _god_. He really did like me.

“Uh.” Edward’s head tilted, causing me to regain my train of thought. “Eric, that’s — thoughtful. I do appreciate it. But you should really go with Jessica. Honestly, I think you’d have a great time.”

"Oh. Yeah. Cool, okay, good. Just wanted to make sure! And so uh, did — did you already, y’know, ask someone? Or something? By chance?" Did Edward notice how Eric’s eyes flickered in his direction?

“No. I’m just not going to the dance.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because dances are —” My rant had already been wasted on Jessica. And clearly people here liked sweating and tripping over their own limbs. “They’re not for me. Plus I’m — going to Seattle. So.”

"Oh.”

"So tell Jessica yes. Preferably immediately. It’d be lame to keep her waiting."

"Y-yeah. Yeah, you're right," he mumbled. “Yeah. Cool. Thanks.” After he’d left in a flustered haze, I put my head in my hands and muffled a scream into this supersonic exhale too quiet to be heard in white noise.

Man, that was brutal.

Meanwhile, Edward looked at me. His headphones dangled around his neck. When I caught his eyes, he didn’t break away. Just stared. “What?”

“Nothing.”

I breathed in. _Do not scream._ “You know, I could argue how obviously not true that is, but I don’t even want to expend the effort.”

“I never thanked you,” he murmured, “for the picture you drew.”

“— Oh.”

“You’ve got a magnificent eye for color.”

I melted. “Oh. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I thought the compliment might help. You look...distressed.”

“You know why.”

“Rejection is unfortunate for everyone.”

“Sounds like a talk you should be giving to Eric.”

Edward chuckled. “Probably.” He hesitated. “And — I’m sorry.”

I snorted an incredulous laugh. “For what?”

“For — not being able to be more cordial with you.” Though his tone still held the frost, he didn’t have that intense eye-gazing thing going on, which made his apology seem more genuine. More soft.

So maybe that’s why I couldn’t help my own tepid tone. “We’re here to learn and work. So. If you don’t want to be friends, so be it.”

“I don’t not want to be friends.”

I turned to him. My heart pounded, but I sucked in a breath. Here goes nothing. “Okay. then. Why don’t you come down to La Push this weekend? A bunch of us are going. You can tell me about yourself and how you and —” I whispered “— Alice managed to cross the entire parking lot and pull me out of the way in less than five seconds.”

As Mr. Banner called everyone to attention, Edward’s face twisted in a disgusted glare. Since the class silenced immediately, Banner delved in, launching into your standard teach-to-the-test lecture about something I had memorized eons ago. Even still, it took several minutes before he turned his back to squeak out a mnemonic on the dry-erase board.

Edward hesitated, turned to me. Murmured. “I can’t. Not that I wouldn’t like to. Emmett and I are camping. At Goat Rocks.”

The lobster-in-Jell-O guy? I couldn’t help breaking into a snicker, even though I knew I was getting blown off. “Okay.”

“What’s so funny?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Edward. Bella. Something funny?” Mr. Banner had turned to arch his eyebrow at me, slinked his eyes downward to my lips, downward to my chest…

“Oh. Just — nothing,” I said to the both of them, unable to help the deep blush blooming over my face. Banner snapped back to the board just like that. Edward took this silence between us as an opportunity to glare at the back of Banner’s head.

“If I could just —” He paused to wrangle his frustration. Turned to me. “I’d give anything to know what you’re thinking sometimes.”

I smirked. “I’m thinking you’re thinking you don’t want to be friends with me, but you’re just trying to find some polite excuses to justify it. You really don’t have to.”

“It’s not that I _have_ — Well— it’s just, it’s better this way, you know. Truly. If I had my choice….”

I waited. “If you had your choice, what?”

“If I had my choice…” His eyes drifted away, _he’s doing it again_ “— I’d probably compliment you on the music you listen to between class, because Debussy is my favorite composer and I respect Metallica as a driving force in the metal genre. But, Isabella, I can’t — fulfill your request. I can’t tell you what happened that day because that would require us being friends. And I can’t be friends. For your sake. I’m sorry.”

Blood rushed to my face. His eyebrows twisted; he looked pained. I could only hear my blank expression over the sound of my heart thumping wildly. I couldn't tell if I was angry or just sad. Why the hell did it matter to me that this guy liked me?

“Yeah. Well that’s a shame. Because if we were, I would tell you that I really love Elvis Presley’s ‘Return to Sender’ even though _Girls! Girls! Girls!_ is one of the worst albums he’s ever recorded.”

That threw him for a loop. “What? Worse than _Having Fun with Elvis on Stage_?”

“Edward.” Mr. Banner’s voice boomed. “Can I finish?” The whole class craned their necks backward. But Edward’s brow just arched, disgusted, _are you kidding me?_ And that had to be as good enough consent as any.

And since Banner had already caught us twice and the ball was now in my court, I had to wait several minutes until Banner returned to the whiteboard so I could lean in and breathe, “Everything after _That’s the Way It Is_ is trash. I stand by that.”

Edward exhaled through his nostrils. “If we were friends, I would tell you that I think you’re awfully misguided.”

“And if we were friends, maybe I’d care what you think.”

*

“A teenage girl in Seattle.” Charlie nodded slowly but didn’t look up from eating. I scrutinized his face under the warm glow of the hooded kitchen light that hung down low from the ceiling. Searching for any nonverbal answers. Then: “Nope. No way.”

My shoulders collapsed; I melted down into the dining room table. “What? No. Dad, c’mon. I’m a legal adult.”

“And this ‘trip to Seattle’ — are you coming back at some point?”

This man was really playing the ‘strict father’ card right now. “Probably not.”

“Bella.”

“What? I thought you were joking.”

“You need to ask permission for these things,” Charlie said. “It doesn’t matter how old you are. You’re my teenage daughter. Now I know it might’ve been more _go-with-the-flow_ with your mother, but things are different here.”

During his speech, I chewed up a salty, overcooked steak. Part of it crunched; probably crusted-on brown bits. He may not know how to deglaze a pan, but at least he was trying. Trying to try. “But I told you two weeks early. I thought I was being courteous. You didn’t freak out when I told you I was going to La Push this weekend.”

“That’s with other people.”

“I’ll only be there for the day.”

“Meeting anyone there?”

“No.”

“So a teenager is going to drive up to Seattle by herself because — what, why not?”

“What’s with the third-degree? Teenagers aren’t always nefarious, y’know.” Pause. Sigh. “Ugh. If it really matters, I’m avoiding the school dance. Okay?”

He glanced up. _Now_ he looks up? “How come?”

“I hate dances.”

“You sound like fun.”

“Dad.”

“What, we joke only when you want to?”

“Fun is subjective. Maybe you find gross high school dances fun. I think they’re shitty.”

“Isabella Marie.”

“Yeah, language, I know. My bad.”

“I don’t even know if you can make the trip,” he said. “Gas mileage on that thing sucks.”

“What? The Thing is a trooper.” We exchanged a glance. I rolled my eyes, sliding off the dining room chair with my empty plate in hand. “Look, it tries its best, okay? I’ll stop in Montesano. And Olympia.” Dishes clattered in the sink.

“City’s big."

“Phoenix is like five times the size of Seattle. I’ve got a GPS.”

“And if you don’t get cell service?”

“In Seattle?”

“If your phone dies,” he huffed. “What then? — Don’t worry about it, Bella; I’ll wash them.”

But I already started rinsing my plate. And the other dishes. So. “I’ll bring my charger. I’ll pick up a map at the gas station.”

“Can you read a map?”

No. “Dad.”

Silence. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with?”

“You know that wouldn’t be fun for either of us.”

“I’d have fun.”

“Uh. Okay, well, you’d be waiting for me outside of dressing rooms.”

He looked down at his plate, chewing. Long pause. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like fun.”

“Look, if I find someone to go with me, would that make a difference?” He shifted like there were stones in his back pocket. But he didn’t say no. So I considered it progress. What was it with Charlie and Rene going through phases of being ‘parental’?

After dinner, we went to our usual routines; him, retreating into the living room to watch sports (or HGTV, if some renovation show was on); and me, retreating to my room to listen to music and sketch in my notebook.

Every day, before I drew, I looked around at my walls. Baby blue. Blank. I always dreamed of what I’d do to this room with a couple cans of spray paint and a green light from Charlie.

As I flipped through the sketchbook pages, I saw my sketches go from colorful patterns to dreary, drooping flowers and gray, rainy days. My current drawing was a forest scene. All shadowed and dark. I picked up my charcoal and began to draw, letting my mind wander.

Darkness grew, and the black across the page. In the shower I scrubbed my stained hands raw and thought about all the comebacks I could’ve made to Edward Cullen. By the end, charcoal still stained the underside of my fingernails. I couldn’t wash them clean.

I had another nightmare that night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she learns / they apologize

That weekend, the whole gang set off for La Push.

  
Dense, water-laden greenery licked the sides of the crumbled road. With the weather clocking in at “balmy,” we rolled the windows down to give our cramped party of nine some air. Peeking sunlight splashed down through leaves of trees and landed dappled across my face. I closed my eyes, breathed in, and dreamed dreams of sunlight swallowing me whole.

  
Whenever I came to Forks, Charlie would humor what he called my “Rene-like tendencies,” and we’d bum around the beach for hours. But La Push was just a foggy patch of memory.

  
So when the beach caught my eyes, I gasped. Held my breath.

  
Panic set in.

  
Gray water lapped against a beach of stones and driftwood and green muck. Mountains framed our entire horizon, like we were being cradled by the earth. A cold, briny wind swept through the surrounding forests. And a black pit opened up at the bottom of my stomach. Something about that water made me terrified, like a heavy claw crawling up my chest and crushing my throat closed.

  
I opened my mouth to tell the group I was gonna head back, but Angela nudged my shoulder and smiled when she passed. Turned. “Coming?”

  
And while I wished I could grab her hand, or tell her how irrationally scared this made me, I found myself doing neither. Instead, I gave a weak smile. I followed her on to the beach. If only to win her approval.

  
We picked our way down to the beach, Eric leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs. An ashy fire pit stood in the center. While some starting throwing around a football, setting out food and drinks on a bench, cobbling together a playlist, Angela stood together in silence, hypnotized by lapping water. Eric and Jess gathered broken branches of dry driftwood and propped up a Boy Scout–approved tipi of wood atop the old cinders.

  
"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Eric asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches, muscles slowly unfurling; the other girls clustered on either side of me. “Shit — anyone got a lighter?”

  
“Right here.” Angela dug a white lighter from her pocket and handed it to him. Eric kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a flick of the lighter.

  
“Check it out,” he said. Flames licked up the wood, crackling and spitting. He looked back to watch my reaction.

  
My eyes widened. “It’s blue.” The kind of blue you wished water would look like.

  
“Yeah, pretty dope, right?”

  
“Haha, yeah, totally.” Jess was leaning in, smiling. When Eric turned his attention toward her, she shot me a quick glance.

  
Well, she obviously wanted alone time. Which, to be fair, was fine with me. Eric was one of those kids I couldn’t find attractive. Not because of the face — he had dimples in his cheeks and perfect teeth, a bland brand of cute. But what really set him back was his personality. Or, really, his immaturity. Like all teenagers — myself included — he was fumbling for his identity, stumbling through his every day with a confidence that lowered inhibitions and a hesitance that held him back.

  
But he did bring beer, and I could relate to the awkwardness he wore on his sleeve, so at the end of the day, it all worked out.

  
Angela sat on a log next to me. She held up to a hand to deny the beer. Fingered the lighter that Eric had borrowed. I took the PBR from Eric and cracked it open. He went to go sit with Jess who eagerly waited for him.

  
“You good?” Angela asked me, and I nodded, slurping the foam off the top of the can. It was the insecure part of me that didn’t speak up. Because I didn’t know why the water grated on me. And I didn’t want her to know I was tense, some big baby afraid of nothing.

  
So I distracted, gesturing my head towards her lighter and grinning.“You know white lighters are cursed, right?”

  
She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Shut up.”

  
That eased the tension. I snickered. “They are! Tons of musicians died with a white lighter in their pocket. Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin….”

  
“My dad used to say that all the time. That’s just a dumb myth.”

  
I laughed in response, digging my toes into the sand.

  
“Hey!” Eric shouted and waved to a small crowd. Guys with shining black hair and terracotta-brown skin had stepped onto the beach. And a round of introductions revealed that they were kids from La Push. Tattered memories flashed through my mind.

  
We all started socializing, and soon enough, we were passing around food and soda and beer. I sat next to Angela while I ate. It was kinda cool, being comfortable enough not to talk to each other. Not that I didn’t want to. But it was first time I didn't feel pressure to speak.

  
Once afternoon teetered into evening, the clouds started to advance, stealing the sun for seconds at a time. Waves blackened. As they finished eating, people started drifting away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others gathered a second expedition to the tide pools. Eric — with Jessica shadowing him — went with them.

  
By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, listening to flames snap and pop. Ignoring the water. Angela and some other guy were drinking beers and occupied themselves with the speaker someone had brought.

  
That’s when a young guy sauntered over to sit with me. He looked sixteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. Dark eyes sat atop high cheekbones of a russet-brown face. Childhood still rounded his chin.

  
“Hey! Um. Bella Swan, right?”

  
“Isabella, y—" But few people called me Bells. "Wait. — Jacob?” My mouth dropped open.

  
“So it’s _Isabella_ , now, huh?” he grinned.

  
I laughed. “Isabella, Bells, Bella, I go by everything. —Damn, dude, I can't believe it's you!”

  
“The one and only.”

  
“Mistah Black,” another guy uttered in a feigned British accent as he passed, laughing and clasping Jake’s shoulder. Jake pushed the cackling guy away, and said, while wiping the guy's spilled beer on the side of his jeans, “I was the one that fixed your truck up for you."

  
Oh. “Wow. I didn’t even make the connection. — Long time no see! Y’know, I didn’t even recognize you without your Power Rangers shirt.”

  
Jacob’s eyes burned with this buoyancy. Even blushing with embarrassment, his carefree, cheery energy left me breathless. “No worries. Surprised you remember that much, considering I was just the little brother crashing all your games of ‘house’ and ‘doctor.’”

  
I laughed. “Wow. Wow, yeah, I remember, Caitlin and I used to play pretend for hours. I haven’t thought about her in years. God. How is she?”

  
“Um.” His voice faltered. No trace of a smile remained. “I uh — think you’re actually talking about Rachel? Caitlin passed away. Remember?”

  
Oh.

  
Shit.

Could this be the most humiliating, embarrassing, shameful thing that’s ever happened to me? How could I not remember that one of his sisters had died? More than that, why, _why_ , with a fifty-fifty shot, did I think of _the wrong sister_? “Oh — y-yeah. I’m...so sorry. Yeah. I guess I was thinking about Rachel. I’m so sorry.”

  
“No big deal.” Jake smiled, sympathetic. “It was a long time ago. — Rachel’s great. Got a scholarship to study abroad in Finland. Bioengineering.”

  
We chatted about The Thing — Jacob loved the name — and my move to Forks. Our voices attempted to drown lapping waves, drunken teen chatter, and a crackling bonfire. We talked about Jacob’s love for building cars. Reminisced about old fishing trips. Complained about the wet.

  
Well, _I_ complained. “It’d be a lot better if it were warmer,” I said. “I hate the cold. And the mist. Especially the mist. The mist is everything I’ve ever hated.”

  
Jacob laughed. “You know, that’s why I used to be scared of this beach when I was little.”

“Really?” I laughed, nervous. “I’m scared of this beach now.”

  
“No, I get it! It’s the mist that does it. Creepy as hell. _Night of the Living Dead_ vibes. Dad used to say when the mist rolls across the lake, that’s when the red-eye strangers come.” He waggled his fingertips at me and laughed. “You remember, right?”

  
“Red-eye stranger?”

  
“Yeah. Just some old story. We have a lot of community events—some are just for the Quileutes, but a lot of times after those events ended, the whole community would get together, all of La Push. Sharing food, dancing, whatever. We always had a bonfire, and the kids would get to stay up late and hear ghost stories. You’ve must've been to one, right?"

Although I had even fewer memories of La Push in my arsenal, the drive up there with Charlie rang a bell or two. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Back when I was real little, like, pre Power Rangers–shirt little —” I laughed “— my great-grandad was the tribe leader back then. Great storyteller. Every year La Push would have their summer festival and he would tell ghost stories in the amphitheater for it. And Dad picked up the tradition after he died. The best one was the story of the red eye strangers. Oh, and that story about the dude who cut off his thumb. He told that one really well.”

  
I snorted a laugh. “Okay, that one I remember. Bloody stump guy, with the Band-Aids.” We both snickered. “Yeah, no, I don’t remember the red-eyed strangers, though.”

  
“Really? That was _the_ classic story at the bonfires. It was all about these vampires that would roam the earth for eternity, looking for victims.”

  
I arched a brow. “Vampires.”

  
“Hell yeah.” He shifted closer to me, leaning in. “Every kid in La Push knows the story about the red-eyed strangers. Maybe even your friends have heard it. Angela definitely has.” Jacob’s voice lowered, husky and snarling and slow as if exaggerating it to spook me. “Long ago, the red-eyed strangers came to the land to kill every living thing in their path, luring unsuspecting humans into the mist with the light of the souls they killed. Venom dripping from their fangs.” I laughed as Jake hissed with his canine out. “And the last thing you see before their ghostly light fizzles out? is their black eyes turning red when they _bite_ you.”

*

I saw the black-eyed stranger down the hall for the first time in a week that Friday.

  
When the Cullens didn’t have their “contacts” in, something about them seemed — odd. Not in their movements; they remained graceful. Not in their looks; they remained poreless, airbrushed, flawless. Something changed in their demeanor. They were meaner. Less focused. Antisocial.

  
Or maybe, at this point, I should know better than to expect kindness from the Cullens.

  
Edward loved to play the good guy when he had got his golden “contacts” in. Polite, charming, dare I say flirty? with a dash of cocky confidence that prompts him to ask questions about my life.

  
Day after day they darkened, those contacts. As his eyes turned from honey to caramel to cider, so did his demeanor change from good-humored to polite to regretfully distant to cold. The last time we spoke — two days ago, now — we exchanged nothing but hellos. Tried conversing — no go. Though, granted, at the end of class he slipped me a paper sniglet of his top three tracks from _Girls! Girls! Girls!_

  
So on Friday, when Edward had been reduced to a clenched shell of a person who glared at me, who glared at Banner, who ignored greetings and spat responses, I pulled a classic me: I took away the choice. I wasn’t gonna let him make me feel bad, or make it hard for him to live a happy life. I would remove myself from the situation. Then, after class ended, I would talk to Banner about changing partners. It was the only solution.

  
Weight rolled off my shoulders once I’d left the classroom, a signed hall pass clutched in my right hand. When Edward had his dark-eyed days, he was a pain to deal with. But, y’know, at least he didn’t lure me into the mist and kill me like the red-eyed strangers would.

  
I smiled to myself.

  
And there, down the hall, strutting past the science lab: “Alice. Hey!”

  
Even surprise made the Cullens look cute. Alice’s dark eyes widened and shock crossed her face. She froze as if doing so would make her invisible. It didn’t.

  
Alice backed away but smiled weakly. “Bells. Hi. I’m just about to get to class, actually.”

  
“No, hang on, wait.” I made a beeline for her, dodging desks and monitors. “I just —” _Damn, I forgot her thank-you drawing in my backpack_ “— I, um. I wanted to thank you.”

  
“Oh. It’s not necessary. Thank _you_!” Alice’s lilting voice sang a cherry song, but her smile remained tight.

  
“No, please, I — I just wanted you to know, y’know, there’s no — I haven’t — told anyone.” I lowered my voice even though the hall was empty.

  
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but thank you.”

  
“About the bathroom.” I shuffled to move beside her. “I haven’t said anything. But I need to know, I mean, how did — how did you know?”

  
That stopped Alice from turning in the opposite direction. She didn’t flinch back from me this time when I took another step forward. Her lips twisted into a frown and shadowed eyes looked away to avoid mine. “I didn’t know.”

  
“But you did.”

  
“But that’s not what I —” Alice bit back the last word and huffed, frustrated. “Thank you for your vote of confidence. But the van was — unexpected. I’m actually glad that Edward ended up being there.”

  
“You’re telling me,” I joked. “Quick as a whip, that guy.”

  
“Faster than I would have been,” she muttered in a breath. “But I shouldn’t have said anything. Apparently. I still put you in danger.” Her eyes combed through the carpeting and when they lifted again, they glanced over my shoulder. More shock. I turned.  
Edward.

  
“Oh, good,” he growled. “Just who I wanted to see.”

  
But he wasn’t looking at me, of course. He wasn’t even looking at Alice. Instead, she spun around, back towards me, and chimed, “Oh, Principal Johnson! Glad I could catch you!”  
How Alice knew the principal’s name, I had no idea. But as Edward descended on Alice, and Alice walked towards the balding Johnson, a game I wasn’t even playing fell into place.

  
Just as the principal greeted her with a lukewarm wave and a curt nod, Alice blew him a kiss and turned back to toss a wink in Edward's direction.

"Don't you dare," he told her. "It's my turn."

But Alice stopped at the fire alarm four feet away, and pulled.

  
More than pulled. The alarm’s handle broke off like a toothpick.

  
And as the school screamed, as Edward flinched from the sound of it all, as Principal Johnson sprung into action, Alice turned to us both with a cheery demeanor that reminded me of Rosalie. “Don’t you think,” she said to Edward, “it would be prudent of you to escort the lady out safely?” She broke into a wolfish grin just as the principal clasped a hand on her left shoulder and yelled at her over the alarm about “completely unacceptable behavior.”

  
The principal shuffled into the storm of students, Alice in tow. Edward’s lips pursed. I turned to him; he looked at me. Teachers shouted over excited classrooms and squeaking sneakers filled the halls. We turned and left without a word towards the side-door by the stairwell. Though I hesitated at the glaring red sign that screaming EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY: ALARM WILL SOUND IF DOOR IS OPENED, Edward pushed through without a second thought. We burst into the crisp freezing holy hell I don’t have a sweater or a coat. Wow.

  
Edward skipped and hopped up the steps to the end of the sidewalk. I stumbled after him, shivering.

  
“Would you like my jacket?” he asked, shrugging his peacoat off his shoulders. I glanced again at his black eyes, but when I shuddered, he handed me it anyway. Our hands brushed again, that electric zing stealing up to my elbow. I flinched. “Sorry.”

  
“You’re cold,” I told him, still holding out the jacket from where he had given it to me. “Don’t you want it?”

  
“Poor circulation.” He didn’t accept the coat back, so I said nothing and shrugged into it. Its long sleeves fell over my hands; I stuffed them in the front pockets. My fingers toyed with an intricately folded piece of paper he had left in it.

  
Nestled deeper into the fabric. Frowned. “Your jacket is cold too.”

  
“Anemia.” Except just a week ago he had the energy to run across a parking lot in record time without even getting out of breath.

  
But what am I gonna do, accuse him of not having a medical condition? I huffed, so at least he could know I was dissatisfied with his answer, but said nothing.

  
We listened to the fire alarm whining and crying, watched the school’s windows flash with white light. Somewhere on the other side of the school, fire engine horns blared in short bursts and turned into the school parking lot. Edward and I watched from the hill overlooking the school, where the green-slicked cement sidewalk crumbled into nonexistence. Behind us, the forest swallowed up the sounds of chaos coming from the school.

  
We were the only ones to escape through a fire door. I guess the other kids didn’t want to risk the dreaded double fire alarm.

  
“Would you like a ride to Seattle?”

  
Huh? "Wait—what?”

  
"Next Saturday. Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

  
"What? With who?”

  
“Me. Obviously.”

  
“Why?”

  
Edward sucked in a breath. "Well, I couldn’t go to La Push. And I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks. And honestly, I'm not sure if your truck can make it there."

  
What, this again? What is it with everyone dissing my truck? “The Thing works just fine, thank you very much."

  
"But can it make it there on one tank of gas?"

  
"I don't see how that’s any of your business."

  
"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business." _Wow, he really just —_

  
"Honestly, Edward." My veins crackled, electric. "You’re giving me whiplash. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

  
"I said I can’t be friends, not that I didn't want to be."

  
"Gee, thanks. Really cleared that one up.” The fire alarm silenced. For a moment we observed the flood of students rushing back into the buildings, scattering into their separate wings.

  
“Will you go? With me?”

  
I sighed, squeezing the coat closer to my chest. Then shrugged out of it. “Honestly, Edward—I don’t think so. No.” The word fell between us like an iron curtain. Edward accepted his coat without looking at me. We descended back down the steps towards the school. “I can’t. One minute it seems like you hate me—”

  
“I don’t hate you—”

  
“—and the next minute you’re like this suave—” sexy “—gentleman. And I wanna be friends. No, really. I do.” We rounded the corner of the building in silence. “Y’know, I even listened to your _Girls! Girls! Girls!_ picks the other day.”

  
His eyes lit up; the rejection washed away. “Really?”

  
My eyes fell down to the ground as I nodded to keep him from seeing the blush steal my cheeks. “That riff in ‘We’ll Be Together’ is awesome. ‘Song of the Shrimp’ made me laugh. And ‘Where Do You Come From’ is...really cute, actually.” We stopped at the metal roof covering the path to class.

  
“Come to Seattle with me,” he breathed, wrapping his hands around one of the metal supports, stopping close in front of me. “Please.” His spicy breath drew me deeper into his gravitational pull, closer into his coat, into him —

  
I had to shake my head to get the drunken fuzzies out of my brain. “But, see, that’s the thing,” I said. “I think we have a lot in common and everything —” he smirked “—but you aren’t honest. Okay? I know there’s something up. And if you can’t even talk to me, like...how can I even trust you to drive me to Seattle in one piece?” All the while, he stared blankly. I think, if he was more of an open book, I’d see his face fall. Instead, I watched his eyes go dead and dull. “Do you get what I’m saying? Your whole ‘buddy-buddy’ thing is moot if you don’t have the decency to tell me why you treat me this way.”

  
“Yes. I get it. I...appreciate your honesty. I wish there was some way to reconcile my feelings on the matter. But — I cannot.” His lips twisted, like he was forcing himself to mentally reinforce his choice. He was picking something else over me. And that something stops him from telling the truth? What was his truth? And why the hell did I care?

  
“No one can force you to not to talk to me or be my friend. Except me,” I said, my voice stern. “You’re actively making the choice to not be my friend. If that’s your choice, then that’s — my answer is no. I’m sorry. The answer’s no.” Unlike previous moves with Rene, this time I wouldn’t be sucked into the orbit of friends who didn’t want me around. This time, I would invest in people who wanted me.

  
I exhaled the rest of the poison from my lungs. They filled again with the heavy, cold air. “Rejection is unfortunate for everyone,” I told him. “I’m sorry.” With nothing else to say, I excused myself and went back to gather my things from Banner’s classroom.


	6. Chapter 6, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she chases & is chased

Investing in other friends meant agreeing to go with Jess to Port Angeles to dress shop for the Sadie Hawkins dance on Saturday.

Since I was decidedly Not Going but liked looking at pretty dresses, I figured ‘what the hell’ and invited Angela too. Jess must not be one of those people who likes flexibility; she seemed pissed when I told her, even though she agreed earlier that it’d be fun. But c’mon, we had a potential Three Musketeers situation going on. I’d seen the dynamic on TV loads of times, but never had enough friends to experience it. Why couldn’t I have that with Jess and Angela? New town, new me, right?

Dress shopping was exciting in itself. We never bought dresses back when I lived with Rene, but we did go shopping for them a lot. I loved it. Dressing fancy. Rene would come out of the dressing room, strike a pose, and say, _"Okay,_ this _is the dress I'm wearing on a date with Michael Jordan,"_ and then I would laugh and strike my own pose and say, _"This is the dress I'm wearing at my first gallery opening."_

Of course, we always walked out with nothing.

On the way up, Jess, Angela, and I blasted cheesy pop and sang in falsettos, voices cracking and giggly. Jess gabbed with one hand on the wheel about her dinner with Eric. Apparently it’d gone well. “Like, really well,” she said.

“You make out?”

“More than that.”

“Oh, you had sex?”

“Oh my god, Isabella.”

“What?”

“C’mon, she’s just saying what we’re all thinking.”

“Guys, it was our _first date_.”

"And?"

*

Even after she’d sufficiently gave us the minute-by-minute details of her steamy-but-not-steamy night with Eric, she found little ways to bring him back up in the conversation. Which led to her turning to me, placing her hands on her hips, and saying, “Y’know, Isabella, Eric told me you missed Cullen fighting with Mr. Banner in bio.”

It came out of nowhere. Angela had just come out of the dressing room, waiting for Jess to leave the mirrors so she could check out her outfit. Meanwhile, I was sprawled out on the dingy couch, cracking the spine of _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ in paperback. “Huh?”

“Eric told me that Edward got sent to the principal’s office on Friday. When he told me he was wearing this really cute —”

I snorted. “Edward? Going to the principal’s office?” That goody two-shoes minded his p’s and q’s for sure.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Jess’ eyes lit up, glittered. She waddled out of the dressing area in a mermaid dress stretched too tight around her hips. “Okay. So keep in mind, the source we’re talking about is Eric. Super cute, but in one ear, out the other, y’know? But. I guess Edward and Mr. Banner got into this — I dunno, weird fight? From what I heard it sounded like Edward was, like, making snide comments that made so sense, but it made Mr. Banner _super_ mad. So Banner like _screams_ at Edward like ‘blah bah blah get the _hell_ out of my class.’ And Edward was like — well, you know how Edward is. He has that like weird James Dean badboy persona going on.” Angela and I both laughed. “ I guess he made some smart comment and just left. Eric was _so_ into it. You'd think he had a crush on him or something.”

“Oh,” I said. So that’s why I had seen him when I talked to Alice. He had gotten sent to the principal. “The plot thickens.”

“I just hope Eric doesn’t make us write another article about the Cullens,” Angela groaned, eyes glued to her reflection in the mirror. She turned to see how her butt looked in her dress. “The lobster-in-jello thing was bad enough.”

“Lobster in Jell-O?”

“Wait, that was real?” I giggled.

Angela laughed, catching our eyes in the mirror. “Jess, Emmett put a live lobster in Jell-O in Food Science and got an in school suspension.” Now we were all in hysterics. “Okay, but that's not even the crazy part, though. Eric made me go interview him, so I asked for a statement from him, like, ‘Why did you do this? Like what were you trying to do here?’ and he was like, ‘I thought everybody was still putting their meals in gelatin.’”

“Ew, what?”

“Wow, that’s hilarious.”

“Guys, he was like, _mad_ that he didn’t get an actual suspension. I asked him for the statement and—swear to god, I have it memorized— ‘It is a moral outrage when an educational establishment of this caliber responds to tomfoolery with nonsense.’ Like, ‘Hasn’t anyone considered the lobster?’”

“What?” Jess and I said at the same time, and we broke into another pack of giggles.

“And at the end of it all he calls on the superintendent to review his in-school suspension. In favor of a harsher punishment. He’s asking for three-days’ out of school suspension.”

“For lobster in Jell-O?”

Angela lowered her voice. “So like, Eric and I have kinda joked about this before, but I’ve got a theory that Emmett was the guy who put those cows in the cafeteria last semester.”

“Whoa, hold up, hang on. You guys had cows in the cafeteria?” And I was eating food there?

To Jessica, of course, this gossip had already seen its day in the sun. “So, do you and Eric, like, work together a lot outside of school, or…?”

Emmett puts lobster in Jell-O, Edward picks a fight with Banner, and Alice… “Y’know, it’s funny: Alice just got suspended too,” I snickered, and Angela’s mouth dropped. Jess pursed her lips at having her investigation curtailed, so she turned to throw her street clothes back on.

“No way.”

“Yeah way. She pulled the fire alarm.”

“Maybe that’s what I should write an article on,” Angela smirked. “Why all the Cullen kids insist on getting suspended.”

*

We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Jess and Angela were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour. Here it was again. I don’t know what the hell had happened at La Push, but now here I was again — something about the bay terrified me; the heavy claw came back, scraping through my throat and squeezing tight. I couldn't breathe. I couldn’t bring myself to say yes. I couldn’t.

If they noted my distress, they didn’t say anything about it.

I turned a few corners until the water was out of eyeshot. My hands relaxed. My chest stopped trembling.

Yeah. So. This...isn’t the first time I’ve been afraid of water.

Georgi, the former best friend, loved going to the beach. She brought me once, but I had a panic attack in the car. So we drove home. She was really mad at me, but she did drive me home, albeit in silence. 

I think I hate large bodies of water. I don’t know. Not that I didn’t know how to swim or anything — I could have sworn I took lessons at the YMCA. Didn’t I have a memory of the water’s light stretching across my mother’s praising smile?

Georgi hated that I couldn't go to the beach. Rene had no trouble with it — _“after all, you’re so pale”_ — but Georgi was less forgiving. So she started going without me. It became her spot to "get away from things."

For me, my getaway was at the library, where I could read all the books I saw when window-shopping at the mall. Now that I had disposable income, and a more permanent residence, I could buy books. Like, buy them and _actually keep them_. So even though I came to Port Angeles to support my friends’ last Sadie Hawkins dance, I selfishly came here for the bookstores. I dropped hints to Jess, but I don't think she got them.

So I tried my luck at the Three Cats bookstore, a tiny corner store a few streets back. Except, when I got there, crystals, books about chakras, and alternative medicine booklets filled the store window. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling from behind the counter.

Alternative medicine and spirituality and all that wasn’t really my scene. Georgi’s mom was into it, though. Crystal healing, specifically. She kept crystals around the house. Jade under her TV stand. Amethysts next to the codeine on her nightstand. Topaz in the bathroom. Why? No clue. I'd asked Georgi about it several times, but she always rolled her eyes and told me she didn’t believe in that shit. Embarrassment never affected her, but if she was embarrassed about anything, it was her mom.

“Need any help?” asked the woman behind the counter. I smiled weakly.

“No, I’m okay, thank you.”

Georgi used to take her mom’s books on crystal healing and draw in them. Once, she covered an entire _Crystal Healing for Dummies_ with a character she often drew, Tasha, a superhero who wore fingerless gloves and kept a throwing knife in her afro. In another life, Georgi could have been a comic book artist. In this life, just tried to catch her mom's attention.

My fingers trailed over the spines. I wondered if the woman behind the counter believed in any of this. Palm reading, shapeshifters, witches. Even a book on vampires. I pulled that one out. The dust jacket drew me; a watercolor reprint of some sharp-faced girl, chin raised. Her eyes were black, like Edward’s during the first day of school.

I smiled. Georgi would love this. We weren’t on speaking terms right now — maybe we never would be — but if we were by the time her birthday came around, she’d definitely love this.

I brought the book to the cashier and prayed she wouldn’t talk to me about it.

I meandered through streets choked with end-of-the-workday traffic. My only objective was avoiding the water. Niche stores turned to repair shops turned to vacant spaces. Only after I crossed the road did I realize that I was going the wrong direction. What little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try my luck on a different street on my way back towards the boardwalk.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

Sure, I was lost, but my nostalgia and the emptiness of the city made me hungry. I turned down a cramped alley to head north. Between me, a steel building and a building with red brick, like the one I’d painted back home.

Whaddya know — the bricks were blank. So blank. So empty. So tempting.

Maybe I could draw something small, snap a pic, and send it to Georgi. Sort’ve like a primer for when I send her the book. Like, _‘hey I still exist, and I still like you.’_

I found myself reaching for the charcoal in my bag. I pulled my phone out as well and texted Jess and Ang, telling them I got lost and that I’d be late. No big deal. What’s ten more minutes?

Spray paint was one thing, but honestly — on top of being more permanent, it wasn’t my favorite medium to work with. Charcoal, on the other hand, though it lacked the color, had the capacity for depth. Plus, after a couple of rainstorms, no one would even recognize my drawing. It wasn’t vandalism. Not to me, anyway.

I traced the outsides of an ivy. Back when my mom and I were poor, we lived in the southeast. Green ivy grew two blocks down from our apartment. I wrote a science essay on it once. Ivy has the ability to erode whatever it crawled on. Like a parasite, but more independent and beautiful. I sighed, buffing out a black line with my finger.

Maybe the permanence of spray paint wasn’t so bad. Ivy deserves that courtesy.

I kept squatting and sketching on the building, until my butt started vibrating. Fuck. I wasn’t ready for the boardwalk meal. I was hungry, but the boardwalk made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to admit that it made me uncomfortable, but there was the truth. I couldn’t deny it. Big bodies of water freaked me out. They always freaked me out. _Why?_

Missed call. Whatever. Maybe they'd get food without me, and I wouldn't have to go there at all. I could show up late and just say that I’d gotten lost, that something had happened.

A shadow flashed over me, I could see their silhouette from the traffic lights. I glanced. Gone. Whatever. No one would really see me here anyway. I was crouched somewhere between two dumpsters.

Another call. I rolled my eyes and pulled out the phone. An unknown number, the same area code as Charlie. Maybe a telemarketer?

I let it go to voicemail. Refinancing my mortgages weren’t interesting to me, especially when I had no mortgages to refinance.

My knees cracked as I reached up to draw a vein of plant. If only I had a few hours. I could stretch this drawing out to the top of the building. I smiled, thinking of my old friends and how we’d pull this project off. Someone would have to get on the roof of this building —

Another vibration. I rolled my eyes and pulled my phone out with charcoal stained hands.

A voicemail from the unknown number. AKA aggressive telemarketers.

Still, I called my voicemail. Another silhouette passed the alley. It stopped at the entrance. I entered my code, heart throbbing.

My hands chilled.

_“Bells, listen. You are in danger. You need to get out of that alley. You’ve got fifteen seconds. I can’t explain. You need to go.”_

Blood froze. Body froze. Edward Cullen sent me a voicemail. How did he have my number?

Now the silhouette moved towards me, floating like an untethered shadow. I rose. The silhouette sped up. I dropped the charcoal; it snapped. I snatched an empty glass bottle, gripped the head with my fist. Time to employ what I learned back in New Mexi—

Headlights flashed past the alley, and the car skidded with a screeching halt in front of the space. The passenger door flew open, followed by the driver’s.

"Get in!”

Out stepped Edward Cullen—who else?—angrier than I had ever seen him. And that’s saying something. The way the shadows sliced his face and pooled like blood into the furrows of his brow, the snarl of his mouth, the crinkled crows feet at his eyes. He only had eyes for the man at the end of the alley. As I scrambled into the car, Edward took a sharp step towards him, fists clenched. By the time I had shuffled into my seat and craned my neck to see around him—it was over.

Over, as in, the silhouette had disappeared.

As if he had never been there at all.

As fast as Edward Cullen, one might say.

My heart fell, stuttered, stopped.

The driver door slammed, cloaking us in darkness. I reached for the door. Not in time. Tires squealed and an engine roared, and Edward and I tore away from the alley.


	7. Chapter 6, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she eats; he talks

Darkness shrouded the space between us. From the blue glow of the dashboard I could make out Edward’s face, still twisted painfully in an expression of utter hatred and disgust. A face I had only seen once before, that first day in Bio.

Only this time, his eyes were golden. I caught a glimpse of them as Edward swerved to straighten out the car. Wheels squealed as he banked a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.

Anger plagued his expression, from the disgusted lips to the snarl in his voice when he asked, “Are you okay?”

"Are _you_?"

"No. No. I was here and heard his thought— Bells, you were about to be —”

“Sorry, his thoughts?”

“That man, the nomad. I read his — The one you saw in the alley. He was, I don't, I don't even want to repeat, just _so_ — ” His hands tightened over the steering wheel, knuckles white, shaking. “But it wouldn’t be productive,” he gasped. “It wouldn’t be productive. Not now. Later. I’d — appreciate it if you distracted me.”

“What?”

“Say something. Talk.”

“Wh-what, what, what do you want me to say? What — how did you know his thoughts?” No response. “What the hell is going on?”

And as he snarled, “My sister is a complete —” his phone rang, and Edward finished his sentence with the phone picked up: “angel. —No, I’m going to kick _your_ ass.” And hung up, tossing his phone at his feet and hunching over the steering wheel, one hand on his chest. And where it felt like he should be heaving, gasping to catch air, there was no movement in his chest. He was still.

“Uh. Yeah. So. Talking. What, uh, brings you to Port Angeles?”

He huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Treaty request.”

“A what?”

“It’s not important. I have a duty. So I was already in the area, and I noticed….” He paused. “I hung up the succulent, you know.” Is this supposed to be an answer?

“What?”

“In my room. Above my couch. The succulent; I framed it. I stare at it. I stare at it all the time. You made it for me, so I can't help staring at it. So when Alice told me —”

Alice? “That was her on the phone, too, huh?”

“Yes. She, she told me something was wrong, with you, and I'm obligated to keep all of the hu— Uh.” This had been a sharp departure from the Edward in bio class, even on his worst days. Visibly shaken, stumbling over his words, disconnected thoughts. “If Alice thought you were in danger, I would hardly be a good samaritan to ignore it.”

“Alice predicted that I’d get hurt that day with the van,” I murmured.

His lips twisted. “Sort of. She knew something would happen. She couldn’t figure out what. Alice’s visions regarding you are strangely frequent while being largely inaccurate.”

“Is that not normal?”

“None of it is." He took the pause to growl in frustration. "She should have never said anything to you. We all agreed. Alice thinks that just because she can see the future, she doesn't have to bother with the present. It's just so—” He gripped the steering wheel. "It's frustrating," he snapped.

A million questions swam in my head, but what he said had caught me off guard. That Edward had framed a doodle with a quick ‘thank you’ scratched on it…

I soaked in his image, the way he curled over the steering wheel, furious. “That’s really nice, by the way. About the succulent.” No reaction. “Maybe you should put on your seatbelt." Edward scoffed and muttered something to himself. _Keep distracting._ "What’s playing?”

“What?”

“On the radio.”

That seemed to take him off edge, at least slightly. “Fletcher Henderson & His Orchestra. Jazz legend.”

“Fletcher — Henderson?” Where did that name sound familiar?

Edward’s breath caught in his throat. And he launched into a lecture like a rocket, like spitting those facts would save his life: “One of the pioneers of early jazz music. The turn of the twentieth century saw a subtle but marked shift from ragtime to what we know today as jazz. Ragtime combined the power of European chord progression mixed with African syncopation, creating this musical hybrid that became the precursor for something wholly American, carried out by men from Scott Joplin to Fletcher Henderson. In truth, it was the African-American’s fight for their cultural stake in America, with something so unlike anything that had ever been seen before. King Oliver, Jelly Roll Morton, Bix Biederbeck, they're all titans of —”

“Rocky Mountain Blues!”

That jolted him back to reality. “What?”

“Fletcher Henderson. ‘Rocky Mountain Blues.’ Right?”

A switched flipped in him; the wrinkles between his brows melted away. “Yes. Yeah, you’re right. Gee, you’re a wonder. How’d you know that?”

“ _A Study in Frustration_ ,” I said. “Yeah. Rene used to be a dancer.—Did I tell you that already?—I guess around the time she married Charlie, she had a pretty solid career going. When I was a kid she showed me a tape of her dancing to ‘Rocky Mountain Blues’ and I loved it so much I wore out the tape. She signed me up for dance lessons for a while. She adored _A Study in Frustration_.” She would dance to it on the weekends into my adolescence.

“Incredible. Yeah, my mother also liked Fletcher. —Do you dance?”

“God no! I have Two Left Feet Syndrome.” That's what Rene called it, anyway.

Edward peeked in my direction. Glanced at my hand. “What’s with the bottle?”

“Oh.” I still held the neck tight in my white-knuckled fist. Right. I had picked this up in the alley. “Uh. Nothing. I’m not drinking.” That probably doesn’t help my case. “Back in New Mexico I learned how to—nevermind. I’ll just, uh, I'm just gonna recycle it.” God, why was it so hard to think? To breathe?

“Just drop it,” he murmured. “I’ll throw it out later.”

“Um, actually, since you’re here,” I said, “I have a dinner with—” I glanced at the clock on the dash. 7:45. Since we had a reservation at six-fifty, Jess and Angela had probably eaten without me. “Shit. Okay, nevermind. Hey, how’d you even know to come here? And what about the guy’s thoughts? Did you know him?”

“No. Who do you have a dinner with?”

“Jess and Angela.” His expression smoothed at my answer. “Do you mind dropping me off at that restaurant on the corner?” We were near the boardwalk. The water. My chest tightened. I recognized some of the shops around the area. Edward swerved into the nearest lot and parked the car. Before he could say something, I unclicked my belt and burst from the Tesla, running towards the restaurant.

They’d already eaten. Eaten and left, actually, because I ran into them coming out of the restaurant. Their faces looked incredulous, but mostly pissed. Well, Jess looked pissed, anyway.

“Isabella!”

“Hey guys. I’m so sorry, oh my god. I got lost, and I wasn’t sure —”

“We texted you and you never responded.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m an idiot, I’m really sorry, I just —” I could hear Edward’s footsteps behind me, and my ears began to burn. “I just...was caught up. With — something.”

“Oh.” They looked at the imposing, beautiful figure behind me, and they tried holding back their grins. “Got it.”

“I got lost.”

“Yeah.” They were smiling.

“And I ran into Edward.” _God, that sounds like a dumb lie, doesn’t it._

"Sorry to keep Bells from you," Edward said to them with his usual air of grace. "Would it be all right if I joined you?" He came up to my side, but he was looking at Angela and Jess.

"Er," Jessica said.

"Well, actually, we already ate while we were waiting. Sorry," Angela said.

"Damn,” I muttered. “Okay. Well, I’m sure I can pick up some—”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

All eyes slid to Edward Cullen, who refused to shift his irises even a millimeter away from mine. Meanwhile, Jess’ mouth dropped and Angela, standing behind Edward, giggled silently into her coat, the collar pulled over her mouth.

Before I could decide between a laugh and a Hell Yes, He turned to my friends. “Do you mind if I drive Bells—Isabella—home tonight? That way you won't have to wait while she eats."

"Um—” Jessica looked at me. At least she read my expression before she answered. “Yeah. Fine. Totally fine. Angela?”

“I mean, I'm not gonna answer for her. Is that okay with you, _Bells_?” Angela asked me, winking behind Edward's back. I nodded, resolute. Jess flashed Edward a smile, but Angela only nodded. "Text us when you get home safe, okay? See ya. Bye, Edward." He turned to toss her a smile. She grabbed Jessica's hand and pulled her toward the car, which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street.

As they got in, Jess turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. I waved back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned to him. He took a step but stopped when he saw me frozen. “Are you coming?”

The Cullens didn’t eat. It was obvious from their first day at the lunch table, it was obvious all the subsequent days I had seen them. But of course, you can’t just accuse someone of not eating food. “Are you hungry?” I asked him.

His smile was tight. "Humor me, won’t you?"

The restaurant wasn't crowded — it was the off-season in Port Angeles. Our hostess assessed Edward with eager eyes.

"A table for two?" he purred to her. With the breath caught in her throat, she led us to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor. I was about to sit, but Edward shook his head.

"Perhaps something more private?" he insisted quietly to the host. I wasn't sure, but it looked like he smoothly handed her a tip. This guy was straight out of an old-time movie.

"Sure." She sounded as surprised as I was. She turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths — all of them empty. "How's this?"

"Perfect."

From the cozy, plush red velvet seats and dark maple wood, I watched her walk away. Before Edward could speak, I leaned across the table with my head on my hand. "You really shouldn't do that to people," I murmured. "It’s not fair.” The heat of the candle light spilled into my elbow.

"Do what?"

I snorted. "I dunno, dazzle them like that? God’s sake, man, she’s probably hyperventilating in the kitchen.”

Edward couldn’t help beaming a smile. “I dazzle people?"

"Please. Seems like you’ve practically made a career out of it," I mumbled. When he laughed, the smooth, musical lilt of it turned heads. “See, this is what I’m talking about.”

"And? Do I dazzle you?"

I rolled my eyes, leaning away. “Don’t get smart.”

“Dazzling aside,” he said, in that tone that reminded me of Alice’s. “I’m not here to derail your evening. I’ll get out of your way and let you eat, if that’s what you need. But I wanted to take you to dinner because I want you and I to come to an understanding.”

My eyebrows raised, but my voice was impassive. “An understanding.”

He had a faraway smile. “It sounds Italian-mob-ish, I know. But it’s not like that.”

We said nothing until the waitress took our order. Two Cokes— “Is Pepsi okay?”

Edward deferred to my opinion. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

— and some mushroom ravioli. For Edward, nothing, of course. What a coincidence.

We watched her slide out of earshot before he continued. “I want you and I to be clear about what’s going on.”

My heart fell. “Uh, okay. What’s going on, then?”

“There are certain facts that have come to your attention,” he said, with a voice smooth and lulling and reminiscent of a lecture. My heart sped up. “And I do apologize, on behalf of myself and my sister, that they’ve come to your attention. It was not our intention to interfere in your life in this manner.”

I laughed. “Are you kidding? You and your sister are like a concentrated version of the A-team. You’ve saved me like twice now.”

Edward’s brow crinkled. "How are you feeling, by the way?" he asked as the waitress set down our drinks. I reached for mine; Edward didn’t.

"Outside of having to settle for Pepsi, I’m alright.”

“You seem to have a more negative reaction to that than to what just happened to you.” At my shrug, he frowned. "I thought—and perhaps this will sound crass, but you seem largely unfazed at the thought of being...”

I waited for him to continue. “Being what? Trafficked, murdered, whatever?”

And he paused, hesitating over his first words. And he said, “That man was there to kill you.”

And here was my window of opportunity. “So you read his thoughts, huh?” Edward shifted in his seat.

“You see, Isabella—”

“No more Bells?”

“—what I was talking about earlier. I apologize if we’ve given you an odd impression.” Pause. “But in order for us to keep talking, I need you to explicitly tell me that you aren’t going to tell anybody anything about our conversations or our—interactions with you.” He paused to watch my face fall. “I don’t want to make that deal with you. It turns our relationship into something rooted in coercion. Because if you don’t comply, I’ll have to make you comply, and I don't even want to consider that possibility, much less carry it out. It’s unfair to the both of us, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s not like this came out of left-field. It was obvious from the get-go that the Cullens were different. Everything about them stood out like a sore thumb, and on top of that, I was increasingly coming across clues that hinted of something...totally insane. It was only a matter of time before Edward would put a stop to it.

Still. My heart fell. I stumbled over a, “Yes, I agree.” But I didn't wait for him to continue. “I mean, first of all, I’m not gonna tell anyone. I haven’t talked to anybody about anything.” Well, except the fire-alarm thing. Oops. “So there’s no coercion there. I just want to understand. I wanna know. Why are you here?”

“I think it would be best if we ended our relationship.”

Cross, I said, “You obviously don’t. If you did, you’d have let that guy kill me.”

“I have an obligation not to.”

I spat in a whisper, “You don’t get to do both. You don’t get to interfere with my life and then tell me we shouldn’t ever speak again.” And I knew that would set him off, would launch him into a, _‘well fine then guess we’ll never speak again’_ scenario, but I couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. Not til I understood. “Just have a conversation. Talk to me. Please. I won’t say anything to anybody, I won’t talk to you ever again if that’s really what you want. But just—talk to me tonight. Please. I, I almost died twice in two weeks and I—” _Ialmostdiedtwiceintwoweeks_ “—I just want to make sure I have some info on what’s going on so I can just—be safe.”

Edward’s expression softened. “It’s not as if I don’t want t—”

“Yeah, I know. ‘I long to be friends, but alas’— I get your shtick. All I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be that way, y’know? I won’t tell anybody, ever, honest. If the last two weeks are any indication of my time here, I’m going to see more of you, and I want to know what I can do to, uh, not die.”

Edward leaned back, rubbing his mouth with his crossed left hand. When they fell off his face, he had been smiling. “You know, I had guessed that you were going to make an argument similar to this.”

“Yeah? And how’d it go in your head?”

“A lot better than this, in truth.”

We couldn’t help exchanging tired smiles. That melted the tension a little. “A conversation,” I offered to him again, softer. “Honest. I just, I’m dying to know, like, why are you here? Did you just happen to be in Port Angeles at the same time?”

“Persistent,” he remarked.

“I can get away with it today.” When his eyebrows furrowed, I explained. “You’re in a better mood when you have your gold ‘contacts’ in. When they’re black, you’re kind of a jerk. No offense.”

I expected him to scowl, but he laughed instead, almost incredulous. “Yes. Okay. I deserve that. — You don’t believe I have contacts?”

Maybe this was my way in. Maybe I could skirt around his hesitation with friendship. This rigid act of him fell away.

I laughed. “Oh, lord. Okay. Here’s the deal, Cullen: The poor circulation thing I can buy. The anemia thing — sure. The adrenaline rush, eh, that’s a little shaky, but whatever, I’ll take it. But if you think you’re gonna sit here and tell me that you and your siblings all have matching sets of gold contacts — Wow, I’m sorry, but that’s like certifiably insane. That’s more insane than every other lie you’re trying to get me to swallow combined.”

Edward grinned and laced his hands on the table. “So how do I get you to believe it?”

“Take your contacts out,” I said, leaning back. He mirrored me. Neither of us looked away.

Edward’s fingers drummed the table. “Would a bribe do just as well?”

“You better have deep pockets.”

“I think you’d be surprised.”

I smirked, but was more timid in my words. “Or maybe you could be honest with me?”

“I’m going to bribe you to not disclose sensitive information by disclosing more sensitive information?”

“Give me ten questions. And if you really wanna, we don’t ever have to talk again. Ten questions—this will legally be referred to as our One Conversation.”

“Ten!” he said, barking a laugh. “Oh, my sweet girl, I don’t think so.”

“Five? — _Three?_ —Look, I’ll only ask you questions about things I know about you already. How about that?”

Pause. “I need to screen these questions before I commit to anything.”

“God.” I rolled my eyes, but we both broke into a smile. I had to admit, this back-and-forth with Edward was entertaining if nothing else. “I’m just trying to understand why you’re here. That was my original question and I’m sticking to it. Why are you here?”

“I already told you. I had an obligation. And then I found you.”

“No, c'mon, don't be lame, you can't do that,” I said, snatching my drink and sipping. “I already knew that.”

“Truth isn’t always so sexy.”

“It’s also not vague,” I countered.

“Okay then. Next.”

“What?”

“Next.”

I set my glass down. “You can’t ‘next’ this.”

“Can’t? Sorry, is your lawyer on retainer, or —?”

Wow. Edward Cullen had an endless capacity for snark. “Fine. Then how’d you stop the van? Tell me that, then: how’d you run across that entire parking lot in like two seconds?”

“I gave you an answer for that too.”

“A bad one.”

“Okay. Since clearly my answers don’t suffice for you, so why don’t you tell me what you think happened? You must have an idea.”

“I—” My heart hammered, but I swallowed it down. “I dunno. Something—weird.”

“Say it. Out loud.”

“Uh. Well. Maybe...a glitch in the matrix? Or you’re a superhero? genetic experiment?”

He never laughed, never denied, only nodded. “I see.”

“And you can read minds. Right? That’s what you said in the car. You didn’t know that guy, but you knew his thoughts. Allegedly. So that’s part of this whole superhero thing. —Hey, can that be my other question? How does that work?” Edward said nothing. So I mused my way around my head. "Or maybe a better question is, ‘How can you prove it?’ Like what if you’re just messing with me that guy wasn’t—”

“Trust me, he was.”

“Can you read what I’m thinking right now?” _Apples. No, seventy-two. —No, choose something more personal…_.

The frown lines in his forehead deepened. “The thing is, I—can’t. I've never been able to. You’re the only one I can’t read.”

I arched a brow, incredulous. “How convenient.” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “How does that work?”

"I don't know. It’s maddening. I’m trying to figure it out. The only guess I have is that maybe your mind is somehow tuned out. Your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM."

“Well if you can tune out the voices, can’t you just tune them back in? Or tune specifically to me? Or something?”

Edward’s frown made him look dissatisfied. “My ability is a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's a hum until I focus on one. Most of the time it’s overwhelming. But it does have limits. I can't hear anyone, anywhere; I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's inner voice is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles.”

“Well, if you can hear everyone else, can’t you tell me what they’re thinking, at least?”

Edward glanced around the restaurant. Two others sat at a table in the middle of the room. A group of four sat in a booth in the opposite corner. Silence shrouded us for a while. Then he leaned in, hands laced again. “Okay. Here's how we'll prove it. The waitress is going to come over with the ravioli. She’s going to say, ‘Here we are,’ and set your plate down, and then she’s going to turn to me and ask me for my number. Or she’s going to ask me if I need an extra plate or napkins. She’s trying to figure out whether we’re dating and if it’d be appropriate to ask. My vote is ‘no.’”

“I second that,” I said. “But c’mon Cullen, there’s no _way_ she—”

“Here we are,” said the waitress, setting a steaming plate of ravioli in front of me. She flashed a smile at Edward and asked if he wanted anything else, anything at all, maybe an extra plate? maybe some more napkins? (maybe a one-night-stand in the backseat of her car?)

Nope and nope, thank you. When she left, he stared at me. “So that was a no on the number.”

“Well, we democratically voted it in bad taste. She probably read our minds.” Edward laughed; heads turned again. “Hey, quit your dazzling.” Man, this conversation was going way better than I thought. Who knew a bit of chemistry could take us this far? “Wow. You really are a mindreader, huh? She was thirsty,” I murmured, eyes wide.

“Thirsty? How could you tell?”

“Hello, it was written all over her face.” He still looked confused. “ _Sex_ , Edward, she wanted to have sex with you. So the phone number thing makes sense.”

His eyes dulled. “Oh. Thirsty, sex. Yeah. I saw.”

“You saw? Wait a minute.” I paused for him to continue but he didn’t. “You saw you and, and her? In her head? Having sex?” He nodded. “Does that happen often?” Edward gave me a look, like _are you kidding? have you_ seen _me?_ “You’re right, that was dumb. — Man. What’d she want you to do?”

“You really want to count that as one of your questions?”

“I dunno. Are you gonna tell me why you were in Port Angeles? That’s really what I want answered.”

“Are you going to eat your ravioli?” he snarked.

 _Jackpot._ I grinned at him. “Yessir I am.” I unwrapped my silverware and dug in. Tears stung my eyes when I bit into the hot ravioli, but I kept eating.

"I was patrolling in one of the neighboring cities when I got the call from Alice. There was a...malicious actor in Port Angeles. Someone passing through the area but attempting to hunt. As these incidents are becoming more frequent, I rushed to divert the intruder. And once I hit the city, I...noticed you were there.”

“Alice told you.”

“Sort of. She informed me of his presence there. And she mentioned you might be there. She didn't know your location.” When he paused, I swallowed. "Now, once I’ve read someone’s mind before, it’s easy to pick them up." His lips pursed as he watched me take another bite. "With your mind, there’s radio silence. Like when Alice tries to predict your future. Only worse. Nonexistent.”

“That doesn't explain how you ‘noticed I was there.’”

“My point being, when I arrived at Port Angeles, I had to pick through minds I _did_ know because I couldn't pick through yours. That mind happened to be Jessica’s. According to her memory, you took off on your own several hours prior, and based on what I could see through her eyes, the last time you texted her was forty minutes ago. So I memorized your phone number from her head and went looking for you. Jessica had a vague picture of a bookstore floating around. You'd gone south, and I knew you would have to turn around soon. I searched through the thoughts of people on the street to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. It seemed silly at the time, since I had more important things to take care of. But somehow I thought—I don't know—that I should be with you. Even if Alice has a low success rate with you, in my experience, it's always prudent to heed her."

He was lost in thought now, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine. "I started to drive in circles, still… listening. The sun was setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. Then, I picked up on your scent, and—”

“Sorry, my scent?”

“Yes.”

“Like my hair? Clothes?”

“Something like that.” A blush crossed my cheeks. _Add supersmell to the list of weird powers._ “And then—I heard what he was thinking. I saw your face in his mind. He’d been tracking you. It was very…hard—you can't imagine how hard—for me to simply take you away, and leave him… alive."

Alive? “I could’ve beat him up.” My mind flashed back to the bottle.

“He’s not someone you can beat up,” he said simply. “ _I_ would have to beat him up. I’d have to drive him out of the area. Or take care of him.”

My fork clattered onto a half-empty plate. I stared at him. “Whoa. You’re…” I breathed, “'take care of' like, as in—” _kill?_ I couldn’t even say it. Didn’t even want to think it. But the comprehension must’ve registered on my face as some sort of pain. Because he mirror my expression and couldn’t look me in the eyes.

And perhaps, at this, our One Conversation expired.

Edward closed his own. Breathed in. He urged in a low, slow voice, “You know very little about me. You know that I read minds, you know that I have enhanced senses, you know that I have cold skin, you know that my eyes change color. You know that I like Elvis Presley. And now you know this. With every bit of information, you’re running up against a choice that could change your life. Forever. There’s a certain line you cross before you realize you can’t go back. You are dangerously close to that line. This is why we needed to come to that understanding.”

“You wanted to take me to Seattle,” I breathed, shaky.

“Alice was concerned.”

“Concerned? Concerned, why? That I’d get killed there before you and Alice could do the job?”

Hurt crossed his face. “No, it’s not like that. Not at all.”

“You’re concerned that I’d need a killer to protect me?”

I couldn’t tell him exactly what he was, but he was something. Part of me rationalized it as him being some chaotic sociopath, or some weird psychopath, that everything he said and did were lies, that everyone around him was engaged in this whole plot to prank the shit out of me. But underneath it all these layers, among the evidence I could see and hear and touch, I knew: this man was not human. And I knew. But I couldn't think the words, much less say them.

But how could he be? If what he said was true, how could he possibly be human?

"Maybe we should take you home?” he asked. I nodded. He slapped a hundred down on the table — there’s no way the meal cost even a quarter of that — and rose. He gestured me to the door.

As the hostess chirped, “Have a good night!”, Edward, who held the door open for me, murmured in my ear as I passed, “Who should we call?” And followed me out to the porch. The door slammed behind us. “Angela? Jessica? Your father? I’m happy to wait with you here until they arrive.”

I frowned. The panic of looking out into the bay made my heart speed up. “Why?”

“Isabella, if you don’t feel safe with me, you should find someone with whom you do feel safe.”

That zapped me back into reality. Didn’t feel safe? With everything I knew about him, of course it would make sense if I didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to be near him. He could kill me in an instant. He could chase me through the streets. He could stalk me through the minds of everyone I knew. So why didn’t it cross my mind? Why, when I glanced up at him, did all the tension melt away? Why did I constantly feel like burrowing myself into his chest? Why did I want his arms around me? Despite everything I knew, how on _earth_ did I still feel safe?

“Call me Bells,” I told him.

We kept walking, silent.

Honestly, the bay made me more anxious than Edward did. He opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in, shutting it softly behind me. But it was the bay that drew my attention, even after he had climbed in the driver’s side. Why, _why_?

The engine purred to life and he blasted the heaters. Tires crunched over stones as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“You kill,” I said again. Probably shouldn’t have waited until we were trapped in a car together, now that I thought of it…

“It is the unfortunate reality of this world,” he murmured. “But people? No. I don’t.”

Edward pulled out through the traffic, apparently without a glance, flipping around to head toward the freeway.

And while we pulled onto the highway with the plinking of Fats Waller in the background, I tried to keep my muscles from tensing. Cullen had his eyes on me when he could. "Oh,” I said, feeling a sickening wave of truth crash over me. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

It wasn't even the fact that I was registering it, that word, _inhuman._ No, the sickness that came with that truth was linked not to the word, but to what Edward had told me earlier. The line he was talking about came up sharp, and it had passed, just like that, when I had opened my mouth:

“You’re not human," I told him.

_Goodbye, line. Nice knowing you._


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he drives; she speaks

Silence covered us like heavy blankets. Or maybe a more appropriate analogy would be that silence strangled me by the throat. 

“What are you thinking?”

What _was_ I thinking? Who knew. All I knew was that my emotions were off-kilter. I didn’t seem mad or sad or annoyed or anything—just shocked. Was I upset about the fact that Edward Cullen killed—or, rather, had killed? Or was I more upset at the fact that inhuman humanoid creatures existed and all this time no one bothered to say anything?

Or did no one know?

“I think,” I said, hesitating over my words, “that I need a distraction.”

“Would you like me to talk?” he asked in a soft voice. “I can talk about jazz.” My expression never changed. “Or, I can ask you the questions.”

I gave a sarcastic snort. “Yeah. Right. You want to ask me questions?”

“Well, you know who I am.” We exchanged glances. “Not exactly, but you’re close. You have everything you need to solve the problem. Apparently.” He looked down at my feet. “But I don’t know much about you.”

“Uh.” I stumbled over another incredulous laugh. “What's there to know?”

“Since I can’t read your mind—everything. Your favorite movie. How you got that scar on your arm. How you ended up here, more than anything. What you meant that day when you said you ‘took away the choice.’ —Your favorite color.”

“It’s brown.”

“And?”

“ _Romeo and Juliet_ , the one with Leonardo DiCaprio in it.” No response. “I got the scar because I fell out of a tree on my twelfth birthday.”

He waited. “Bells.”

I groaned. “I mean, I could tell you the rest but I’ll sound like an idiot.”

“Will it sound more idiotic than me telling you I’m a mind-reading killing machine?”

That joke was enough to loosen the tension in my shoulders but not enough to let my guard down. “It’s contentious.”

“Contentious.” We exchanged wry smiles. “One conversation. After that, we don't ever have to speak again, if you really want. Or so the saying goes."

I rolled my eyes and mumbled, “Fine,” but didn’t speak for over a minute after that. I started a few times and stopped, blushing the whole time. I glanced out the window, but everything rushed by in a blur of color. “Ugh. So. I sent myself here because I felt — trapped. In Phoenix. Rene was off in her own little world and Georgi and I were fighting.”

“Georgi?”

“Oh. No one. We were friends. I don’t really make friends. But she was mine. She was two years older than me, impulsive and irresponsible, but you couldn’t help loving her, y’know? Like Rene. And I think that’s why I liked her. ‘Cause Rene and I had a great relationship, but once she got married, everything sorta got worse. She was unhappy without Phil. But she — god, she’s so _stubborn_!” Like a flock of ox. 

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“I told her, y’know, she was welcome to go run off with her husband, galavant around. I’ll hang back and she can go do what she does. —No, no. _‘Oh Bella, I couldn’t possibly leave you here alone.’_

“So, okay. We stayed. I made money for her, I paid the bills for her, I did what I could for her. For years, I did that. But after she married it got—overwhelming. Lovesickness always crushes her.” I finished with a _hmph_ and rolled my eyes; Edward laughed. “So eventually I start asking: _‘Okay, if you’re not gonna go be with Phil, what if I lived with Charlie?’_ — She shut me down. Every time. Like, _‘You wouldn’t be happy there,’_ or, _‘We’re the Gilmore Girls, you can’t tear us apart!’_ Emotional garbage. You know.”

“Well, I’m sure she didn’t want you to go.”

“No, of course not. And I didn’t want to go either. I loved her. I still love her, more than anyone. There just came a point where my relationship with the both of them became unhealthy.”

“As in abusive?”

“No, nothing like that. Not with Rene. With Georgi, yeah. There was a lot of lying for her, taking care of her. We got into a lot of arguments that became fights. I put up with bad behavior I shouldn’t have. That was my fault. That’s not like me. Or at least, I didn’t want it to be. But it also made me realize that I sort’ve had a similar relationship with Rene. I mean, credit where credit is due, Rene at least _tries_ to be responsible sometimes; like she was really insistent that I do everything to get a good education. That was number one for her.”

“So she had her priorities straight, at least.”

“Yeah. Kinda. Except she kinda didn’t. She’d say ‘work towards a good college’ and then she’d go and spend my lunch money on pottery classes, or she’d stand up to her boss and get fired from a job, or something. Always something. Always an excuse. So then I’d have to swoop in and find some way to pay the bills, or I’d have to convince the landlord to give us extra time, or I’d have to stay up late to keep Rene from — herself. And it was a lot of work to do that _and_ prepare for my future _and_ keep myself sane. So. I. I don’t know. After midterms, I—took a sabbatical.”

“Aha. So is where you ‘took away the choice,' hm?” I nodded, embarrassed. “May I ask what happened on this ‘sabbatical’? You’re talking about your time with this friend of yours—I presume she has something to do with it?”

“Yeah. I mean, she was there for me, Georgi, in the summer and fall. She went to the college when I had a split schedule. No one on campus knew I was still a high school senior, and of course I didn’t know anyone in college. So it was kinda like a fresh start. And she’d sit down and talk to me, joke around, share artwork. She saw me. She had been there with the whole ‘irresponsible mom’ thing. And so I leaned into my relationship with her, this creative outlet. And yeah, she was another Rene type, but at least she was fun. So during the semester, I kinda, sorta, uh, got into graffiti, among other things. It was dumb and irresponsible but. I dunno. I left clues around the house, hoping Rene would figure it out or something so she’d send me away. I knew I needed to get out. But I just couldn’t talk to her. Rene has always been more of a, uh, _visual_ learner.”

“Graffiti. Hm. Really.” His eyebrow arched. “I didn’t peg you as the type.”

“I’m really not.” He chuckled, low. “Or, well, I guess I didn’t start out that way. Besides, it wasn’t like tagging or anything. Never tagging. My friends tagged. I just painted.”

“Plants.”

“Yep, plants and trees, landscapes, whatever. And it was—wow. Just, _so_ invigorating. Like in one life, here I am, this perfect student, perfect daughter, responsible, prudent, practically middle-aged. And then, to have these loud, physical statements around town shouting my name, who I was—it was a relief. People saw _me_ instead of this, like, torchbearer of responsibility. I even started hiding it from Rene because I liked it so much, I liked how that outlet changed my personality. I had to _'cultiver le jardin_ _,'_ or whatever the hell Candide says." Edward got a kick out of my reference. "Such a dumb mistake.”

“But it wasn't a mistake because you changed, right?" he said, skipping over a guitar solo to another, more calming track. He fiddled with the dial; I watched his fingers. "It was a mistake because you were eventually found out. Right?”

“Kinda. A little of both." I looked down. “After a while, I started thinking maybe I should, I don't know, get involved with painting murals for the community, y’know? I liked the art but not the sneaking out, not the quick getaways, all that stuff. So I pulled one in direction, back to Perfect Bella world. Georgi stayed put. It was hard ‘cause I wanted to be good, but I loved collaborating with her, and I wanted her to be good too. —Better, I mean. So I thought, y’know, if I stick with her, if we could be good influences on each other, maybe she wouldn’t...be the way she was. But she kept roping me back into different things, _‘Bella, you gotta loosen up, you gotta loosen up.’_ Her and Rene, they're so similar. So, whatever. I ignored her immaturity—and mine, too, I guess—to prove I wasn't totally uptight. I'll admit it. But I stayed longer than I should've. Until things got ugly.”

“And how did that happen?”

“Just more fights, I guess." _Oh, and failing my midterm._ "More fights and more doing stuff for her and more, just—ugh. That woman! She made so many friends without questioning their intentions, she did so many things without thinking of the consequences. Here I am, thinking, 'Oh, I grew up with Rene, this should be a cakewalk.'

“Anyway, I digress. What was I saying? —As it turns out Georgi had a lot of friends from high school. One of her friend’s dad was a cop—I’d met him a few times. And after one bad fight, he was asking me about this black eye I got, and—”

“Wait. You mean to say you and Georgi got into _physical_ fights?” 

“It, uh, yeah, sort’ve, just—escalated. Not our finest hour.” And by the look on Edward’s face, I was sure I had just opened another fresh pack of questions. Uneasy, I jumped back in. “Anyway, I sort’ve dropped hints to cop-dad that my relationship with this girl was problematic, that things might be happening near x y or z. We were planning on painting this building near the lake. — Well, I say we, but I was—disinvited. Georgi knew, I mean she _knew_ that the water just — whatever, nevermind. She picked that building because she didn’t want me to come with. That’s why we fought. 

“I went anyway to spite her, even though the mature thing to do would've been stay home and never talk to her again. But of course I don't. So it’s me and her and a couple other people. And long story short we end up getting into another fight. Like the fight of all fights. In front of everybody. Georgi pushed me into—w-well, she did something awful—and I guess someone got 'scared' and called the police." I rolled my eyes. "Wouldn’t you know it, cop-dad was right in the area, patrolling around, thanks to me, because of what I had told him the other day.

“So cop-dad shows up. Everyone books it. Georgi books it—even limping, y’know, she still managed to get away. And I—” _sigh_ “—got caught trying to climb a fence. I wasn’t strong enough to be quick about it and Georgi messed up my shoulder. Ugh. Stupid lats. —Quit laughing!”

“Sorry, it’s just —”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s easy-peasy for you, but some of us are weak even by human standards.” He continued to laugh; I rolled my eyes. “Anyway,that's the last time I saw her. She found out I spoke to cop-dad, blamed the whole thing on me, and never spoke to me again."

"Sounds like you're better off for it."

"Certainly, one-hundred percent. This was not how the 'take away the choice' plan was supposed to go. Like I was kind've hoping that Rene would figure it out or get an anonymous tip from cop-dad or something. I even told him, like, 'Man, it would be _so awful_ if my mom found out these things were happening, dot dot dot.' Looking back, I don't know what the hell I was thinking." Every time Edward took a glance in my direction, he had this smile slide across his lips, something he tried to hide on more than one occasion.

I continued without waiting for a response. "So, new plan: I had to get myself off the hook with cop-dad. Which would've been easy, except I had spray paint on my hands and looked like I had gotten into a fight. I was a complete idiot. Ugh. More than an idiot. No one would’ve been patrolling if it wasn’t for me; they would’ve never showed up in time. Someone could've got hurt or something bad could’ve happened and it would’ve been my fault.”

“But nothing did happen, hm?”

“No, I lucked out, I guess. He only caught me and like one other person. I dunno what happened to them, but cop-dad drove me home. In the back of the cruiser. Ugh.”

“As far as breaking the law is concerned, it’s quite a gentle episode to have happened.”

“It’s not about the law, it’s about—” _Me. Who I was. Who I wasn’t. It was about all the mistakes that led me there. There had been so many. So few that Edward knew about._

I never continued, so he did. “A lapse in judgement."

"A months-long lapse in judgement _s_. Knowing you're lapsing in judgement but shutting down anyway because everything just—too painful."

"So, you get caught." The warm incandescents of streetlamps washed our faces in light and plunged us back into darkness. "And I’m assuming this is the part where Rene gets involved?” 

“Yeah. So there’s Rene, y’know, two-thirty in the morning, sobbing curbside in her Looney Tunes bathrobe. And there I am getting out of a cop cruiser, soaking wet, bloody nose, bloody mouth, paint everywhere, scratched to all hell. I felt so horrible, I thought about all the lies I could tell her when I saw her.”

“Did you?”

I laughed, incredulous still about how it all played out. “No. First off, cop-dad and I had a talk on the way back. I explained a few things. We make a deal, he holds up his end: Rene never finds out about the fighting, just the spraypainting. So she asked me, like, _‘vandalism, really?’_ Like, _‘Why on_ _earth_?’ And I just—got honest. I looked her in the eye and just said listen, Rene, I can’t do this. Y’know? I can’t be everything all at once and still be me. I can’t keep up having to care for you and protect you and _save_ you all the time.” Edward nodded along, flicking on the blinker to merge into the exit lane. “Of course that starts a big argument.”

“So she didn’t see it that way, hm?”

“Oh. Not at all. Rene was so mad about what I said, she never even asked about my face.”

“Did she ever find out?”

“No. She didn't get the chance. We get back into the apartment, she’s still yelling at me. I look around. Just within the last like three weeks, when I stopped being middle-aged Bella, when things got real crazy—everything fell apart. _Everything._ I was sleeping a lot at Georgi’s house while Phil stayed with Rene, so I wasn’t really home, y’know. But three weeks later, here I am. Phil's gone. We got unopened mail sitting on the table from bill collectors, there’s nothing but a bottle of tomato juice and an empty pickle jar in the fridge, that _stupid_ bathroom pipe I’d fixed had started leaking again and got _everywhere_ , everything we own is scattered all over the place because Rene read an article about how throwing out all your stuff will help you get your life together or some crap like that. Three _weeks_!” I groaned and rubbed my forehead. “Like, I’m happy to do more than my fair share. Really. I know how to keep a household running. I’m good at it when I have to be. But you’re telling me you can’t keep it together for less than a month?” I laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Forget it."

"So you told her you were leaving, then?" Edward turned the corner, and we rumbled along the cracked pavement at a sluggish twenty-five miles-per-hour—the road that led back to Forks.

“The stars must've aligned because Rene threw out this ultimatum about how I had to turn my life around, ‘Boarding school or live with your dad.’ I booked my ticket to Seattle that night. Checkmate, I guess. I got what I wanted, in some odd, roundabout way. Even if it means Rene thinks I’m some delinquent sleazebag.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t think that. —But why Forks, if I may ask? You don’t like the cold and wet. You’re not close with Charlie. Why not choose boarding school?”

I rolled my eyes. “What am I gonna do, go to some fancy academy for the last semester of high school? No. Rene had no idea what she was saying. Plus, she’d never be able to afford it. And guess who’d end up paying for it?”

“Phil?”

“And even more likely, me. Yeah.”

“Ah. Well. I can certainly understand why that might deter you.”

I paused. “I love her. I love Rene. I never wanted to hurt her like I did. But she didn’t understand—or even believe—that I needed more. It was beyond frustrating.”

“So what was it that sparked your, er, sabbatical?” he asked. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’d been caring for her for a long time. She got married, you said, but—is that really how this all started? She got married and then you befriended a girl that reminded you of her?”

I rolled my eyes to search for an answer and felt around for one with my words. “She got married over the summer. Every time Phil leaves for work, she gets super depressed. He’s gone for a few weeks at a time, maybe a month or two. And I should’ve been paying attention. I don’t know. But November rolled around, and there was a midterm in one of my college classes that had to be done on the computer.” I sighed. “Rene had skipped out on the electric bill. So I _scramble_ for the money. Pull it together, pay the bill, it’s all good, and then—” And then. Always ‘and then.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Come to find out, Rene had decided, a week earlier, after she realized we wouldn’t have enough money for electricity, that the internet was like ‘her generation’s TV.’ So she unplugged us.”

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t make it up. Professor said she didn’t accept late work. _‘College isn’t high school, you know.’_ As if I couldn’t figure that one out myself? And I was just, oh _man_ , I was angry. I’m still angry. That stupid midterm tanked my grade, tanked my GPA. Here I am, eyeing up Ivy League schools, Dartmouth, Brown, UW Madison as a safety, and all of a sudden — gone. Like that. Years of hard work. Next year I’ll be enrolled in community college and then maybe, _maybe,_ if I can get good grades and explain away the bad ones, I’ll have a shot. For a waitlist. Because I couldn’t—” _Keep it together. Control myself. Be better._ There was a long, angry pause. But it didn’t help to keep it in, so I breathed it out and let it go. "I failed my midterm, so I quit my life. The end."

“Well, it’s not the end of the world,” Edward reasoned, tone gentle. “And Ivy Leagues, of course—there are plenty of other schools. Better schools. You don't even have to go to school, if you don't want to.”

“No, and I get that. Really. In the grand scheme of things it’s a small setback.” I sighed. “But that’s what I mean when I say her ‘good mom’ shtick didn’t work. Our relationship wasn't healthy for me. You can’t be putting my education first when you’re making decisions like that. It’s irresponsible.” I could hear her crying in the back of my mind. Crying. Always crying. She always cried. I always comforted her. I was tired of comforting her. When was it my turn to cry? Why couldn’t I be the fucking child? That response had made her cry harder. “I needed to think about what was best for me.”

“And your father didn’t know what was going on?”

“We uh, kept Charlie on a Christmas card–basis. Rene resents the hell out of him, no idea why. He was happy enough to spend a few weeks a year with me. And then I stopped going, and the whole thing just faded. He reached out a few times. But I hated Forks. And maybe he couldn’t keep up with our mailing addresses. I don’t know.”

“Odd,” he said. 

“Maybe he assumed I was happier with Rene.” We were parked now, basking in the glow of a warm street lamp. I looked across the front yard of Charlie’s house. “And maybe I was. But Rene got reckless as she got older.” One of the great things about living in a place like Forks: big yards were everywhere. It looked like someone a hundred years ago had dropped a bunch of a two-by-fours in the middle of the forest and said, _‘Yeah, so, let’s build here.’_ “I couldn’t live my own life and keep up with hers.”

“Are you okay?"

I snapped out it and whipped around to face him. “You got quite the conversation out of me, huh? I think you owe me one.”

Edward grinned. “Now I see why you overstepped our terms in Port Angeles. It really is hard to resist. And you’re a good storyteller.”

I chuckled. I let the calm of the music swell over our comfortable silence. _Do I really have to go?_ “Y’know if you didn’t have such a great playlist, I would’ve bolted by now.”

“I almost forgot. You like it?”

“How could I not? I've loved everything you've recommended so far, so.”

"It’s supposed to be a sort-of smorgasbord of different styles. Here.” Edward plucked the metal USB from his dashboard and held it so the mouth pointed towards me. Silence.

“You’re giving me your smorgasbord?”

“Well, I hadn’t exactly planned on — er, well, it could have used a little more fine-tuning. I was going to adjust it tonight. However, since you’re here, I thought I might...” As he trailed off, he dropped the USB in my palm. We stared, silent. “I thought you might like it.”

“Edward Cullen, are you nervous?” I teased, throwing open the car door and snatching my new book from my feet. It caught him off guard, but he hid it in a smile.

“You make me nervous.”

Not the response I was expecting. He rolled the window down; by the time I shut the door behind me, I could turn and rest my arms on the open frame and speak to him through the window with my head ducked into the car. “You should be more worried about me demolishing your weak playlist.” 

“Isabella?”

"Bells?”

He smiled. “Bells?” Edward leaned toward me, over the middle console, his face inches from mine. My heart stopped beating. Maybe. Hard to tell when the only thing you can hear is the girlish screaming inside your own head. "It’s been a pleasure. Thank you," he said. “But just—” and he zipped his lips shut with his thumb and forefinger, locking them up at the corner.

I did the same with a scoff-laugh, tossing him my key. 

It wasn’t until the car pulled away that I sighed heavily. I swear I panted up the driveway. I threw open the screen door and kicked in the front door, squeezing the USB in my palm and pocketing it. 

“Made it back in one piece?” Charlie called from the kitchen. Greasy fish smell wafted through the air. 

“Sorta,” I said, as I crossed to the stairs. “We sold my liver for gas money. Figured you’d understand.”

“Least now I won’t have to worry about underage drinking.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

“Bella.”

I poked my head down from the stairway. “It’s a joke, Dad.”

“Fish sticks?” He shook the frosty yellow box at me.

"Wow. No. No offense, but — no.”

“Say, so I was thinking, speaking of, uh, fish — maybe we could go sometime. Fishing.” He leaned back on the countertop, bit off a piece of fish stick, and wiped the grease on his jeans. “With Billy? And Jake?”

“Yeeaah. Sounds like...yeah.”

“Or,” he fumbled, “we don’t have to do that. You and I can do something. We can hike. Go to a movie. Something. I don’t know. — Do you still hunt?”

“With who? Rene?”

“What? You were an ace shot when you were a kid. You and Jake set traps like a pro. I just didn’t know if she let you — no? — ‘kay. Well. You wanna go? Shake off the rust?”

I tried not to hesitate to say, “Yeah. That sounds good. I’d like that.” Actually, it’d been a long time. Maybe too long. Shooting and hunting weren’t really my thing, but I had good aim, and the conversation with Edward left me sentimental. Maybe it would do me some good to spend time with the man who made my life more routine. “Thanks, Dad.”

I trudged up the stairs, head clouded. All the details from my and Edward’s conversation flooded my memory. Truth be told, I can’t believe how much personal info I’d given to a guy who more or less hated my guts for the first month of the semester. But there was something. Something in the way his eyes begged me, something in the way he moved. It had changed.

Less—robotic? Firm? Cold? Tense?

Control. Edward had less reactive movements. —No, the opposite: he was _less_ controlled. He moved fluidly. Sure, he had kept his fingers curled tight around the steering wheel, he made a point not to touch me, but he could stand to be three feet from me. _Inches_ from me. So, you know, I either switched to a better shampoo, or maybe he liked me a little more.

My heart leaped. I tried not to smile, but it’s kind of cool, knowing you’re charming enough to make someone stop hating you.

It was a good night to draw. I plugged in the USB and started Edward’s playlist. Debussy first. Of course. Probably trying to butter me up before hitting me with Norwegian death metal or something.

The vampire book was sticking out from my purse; I grabbed it, my eyes absorbing the cover. Georgi would have loved this for sure. But, honestly — I kinda wanted to keep this for myself. For a really dumb reason, too. But those eyes reminded me a lot of Edward’s when he’s in a bad mood. Angry, or angsty. 

They were golden tonight. I followed his eyes everywhere: darting across the windshield, the monitor. To me. To my feet.

_You have everything you need to solve the problem. Apparently._

The sickness from earlier resurfaced. And while I stared at the cover of my book, my brain didn't so much as click, but jam. Like broken gears _._

Black eyes on the front cover stared back at me.

My hands iced over.

 _Don't be an idiot._ I flipped through the pages, through every “type” of vampire. Not the ones that feed on blood; I’m talking vampires who drink nightmares, emotions, tears, semen, everything. Which I guess exist? All looking similarly beautiful, ashy, sunken. They matched, and yet, not?

It wasn’t until I reached the back of the book, where the types of vampires had gotten progressively darker, where I found him. His type. Edward. The guy whose eyes changed from gold to black. The guy who never ate food. The guy whose body was icy. The guy who stayed as far away from me as possible. 

Because he had fangs. Because he was built to kill me. Because his eyes were black when he was hungry.

Oh, god. Oh my god.

He was one of them. A Dracula-type. A Nosferatu. An Angel. A bloodsucker.

_Don’t think about it don't think about it—_

Absentminded, I snatched up my colored pencils and sketchbook. I drew and read the page, switching colors every so often. Mulling over the words. Vampiristic. Deadly. Ruthless. Immortal.

But he kept it together so well. _No, no, it can’t be true, can’t be true. This can't be a real. Humans recognize patterns that aren't there, they do it all the time._

_He's not human._

If these — I don’t know, these parasites or vampires or whatever the hell they were — were so malevolent and bloodthirsty, what kept from them from killing the entire school? The entire town? How could they do it? 

Golden eyes, red eyes, black eyes. Were the golden eyes good? God, I hoped they were good. _What kind of book was this, anyway?_

The more I mulled and drew, the more I knew that whatever the exact truth was, I wouldn’t find out in a book. If I wanted to know, I would have to ask. Him.

My pencils ran out of page. I looked down. It felt good to draw in color. The first time I’d done so since I moved. A lake blazing with a sunset, and velvet-green trees soaking in its light, Northern lights drifting overhead. And I realized, through the fear and the butterflies, what Edward had really meant about crossing a line and not being able to go back. 


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she knows

Smoky fog shrouded the dark world. My head pounded. 

It took me a long time before I mustered up the courage to throw off the warm blankets and feel the icy air brush against me. I hated the cold. It was like plunging into an icy lake and never getting out. 

Like my nightmare last night. I felt like I’d been screaming for hours underwater; never moving, never thinking, only feeling like I had to scream, and screaming.

My bones cracked as I dressed, like they’d been frozen in place for years.

When I got downstairs, Charlie was gone. Frowning, I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes to eight. 

Shit. Oh, _shit_.

Panicking, I rushed up to brush my teeth, jumped back down the stairs, swallowed a granola bar whole, dumped the rest of the cooling pot of coffee into a mug, and tried to chase it down as I burst through the door. Twelve minutes left.

A set of headlights stumbled me to a stop. Coffee sloshed over my hand, searing. I swore and licked it. Mist clung to my exposed skin, icy and numbing. My chest tightened and butterflies escaped. With my mouth stuffed with food, hair a sty, and coffee mug still in hand, I stared at the shiny silver car and its owner, AKA Edward. _Edward Cullen, the vampire._

_Do you even hear yourself right now?_

We stared.

“Good morning,” he said. 

By the way he saw my shaking frame and the flicker of confusion cross my face, I was sure Edward could put two and two together. We both took a step back. 

Meanwhile, in my head: _What do you say to a vampire? Good morning? Or should I say something like ‘good morrow’? Or is there some special greeting you use when you’re trying not to shout 'WHAT THE FUCK EDWARD YOU’RE A VAMPIRE?'_

“Uh. Hello.” _Can’t mess with the classics._

"Do you want to ride with me today?" Edward asked. His smile faltered on my expression. 

“Oh. Uh.” Did I? For once in my life, I’d never been so grateful to have a mouth full of granola bar to chew over while I thought. I swallowed. “Did Alice set this up?” I chugged the rest of my coffee, spilled more on my hand ( _ouch_ ), glanced around me, and set the empty mug on the concrete stoop that led to the side door.

Edward pulled out a fluttering scrap of a handkerchief and offered it to me. “I think she’s committed to trying to read you right. — For the spill.”

A moment of stillness passed while he held out the cloth to me. “R-Right.” I talked while I dabbed at the coffee on my sleeve. _Edward has a monogrammed handkerchief? What the?_ “Well as far as I’m concerned, she’s done a good job so far. I’m gonna be late as hell.”

“Seems you’ve had quite the night,” he said, eyeing my hair. 

“Tch, yeah. Nightmares.”

“Last night?”

A humorless chuckle left my lips. “Always. Cursed house.”

Edward walked around the hood of the car and stood beside the passenger door. “Yes or no, Bells.”

That shook me. “A-am I allowed to say no?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“You’ll let me go?”

His face flickered. “Yes. Absolutely.” 

Neither of us moved. _Don’t be a coward._ “You promise I’ll get to school safely? Whatever I choose?”

“Always.”

 _What else is there to do but take a vampire at his word? God, I must be a complete—_ “Okay,” I said. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll ride with you.”

That startled him, but he opened the passenger door for me. I frowned at the gesture. “It’s a— cultural thing,” he said.

 _Immortal._ I glanced at the handkerchief in my hand and gave it back to him. Edward climbed into the driver’s seat and our doors slammed shut. Warm air blasted through the heaters, curled up the spine of my seat. I still shook, clutching my backpack to my chest. Icy breath scraped against my lungs. Through the fear and the anxiety, I cut the silence with a calm, curious voice, “Edward?” He caught my eyes. 

“You’re afraid,” he said in a slow, low voice.

“Not really.”

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

I closed my eyes, breathed in. _He can hear my heartbeat. Great._ “How old are you?”

Now he really knew the fate of this conversation. His face stood stony. In silence, he pulled in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

“I am nineteen.” He didn’t look at me, eyes trained on the back window.

“And...how long have you been nineteen?”

His lips twitched once. He stared at the road. Only after he threw the car in drive did he answer, voice soft and silken, “A while.”

“So when you talk about your culture…”

“It’s a little old-fashioned.”

My mind whirled around the word ‘old.’

“Isa—Bells,” he said, stealing a glance. “If we’re going to continue this conversation, I need you to tell me what I am.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“It’s so, so — weird.” I couldn’t help a nervous giggle, but he didn’t laugh.

“Try me.” I glanced to read his expression. He remained resolute.

“You’re not, uh—you’re not human.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re some sort of, of mythical creature?”

“I am.”

“Are — are you some type of...” Edward flicked on the blinker but waited to make the turn. We looked at each other.

“Go on.”

“I can’t.” 

“You’re almost there.”

Silence overwhelmed me. “Are you a—are you a, a vampire?”

“Aha,” said Edward, pulling the steering wheel. “I am.”

“But maybe not a blood vampire, right? Because your eyes, they’re gold, not red. And you said you don’t kill humans? Am I right?” I dug out the vampire book from my backpack, waved it in my hand. “There’s nothing about the gold eyes but, but I dunno.”

Edward snatched the book from me, flipped through it while he drove. Frown lines faded when he broke out into a snicker. I trained my eyes on his canines. Sharp, but not protruding. “Was _this_ really your source material?" Frowning, I nodded. "Golly. Why didn't you hand me this in Port Angeles?” 

I flushed a deep red but pressed on. “Gold is good, right? Or better? Or is that some kind of unintended profiling? I probably shouldn’t be generalizing, but —”

“You probably shouldn't be using subjective terms like 'good'," Edward said, almost chiding. "Would I describe myself as 'good'? No. —Here, take your propaganda.” He handed me back the book, eyes back on the road. Hope dissolved in my churning stomach. I picked at the book’s spine with my thumbnail. 

“What does the gold mean?”

Edward exhaled. “Not that you shouldn’t be any less afraid of me,” he said, “but we—myself and my family—only hunt animals. That’s the difference between the eyes.”

“So, the red eyes?”

“Vampiristic faes that hunt on humans.”

“Fae? What? You’re a fae? What’s a fae?”

“Umbrella term,” he murmured. “All mythical creatures are faes. Vampires are faes.”

 _All_ mythical creatures. All. More than one type. All of them. Oh. Oh good. There’s more.

We sat in silence while I reeled. Red eyes. They burned into the back of my mind in a way that made me uncomfortable and scared. “The red-eyed strangers,” I said, mouth open. “Jake was saying at the beach about his great-grandad and the vampires that lured people into the lake.”

Edward stiffened. “That is not us. We’ve never lured people into the lake. Our coven doesn't kill humans."

Could I believe him? Could I trust a vampire? “Is it the same? Does it taste the same? The animals and, and humans?”

“No. Human blood makes us stronger, more animalistic. And tastes better, if I may say so. A red-eyed vampire has better senses, coordination—”

“Have you ever been the red-eyed stranger?”

A silence hung in the air that stretched into infinity. Edward took years to respond. “Not one of _the_ red-eyed strangers, the ones you're referring to. But _a_ stranger. Yes.”

 _How many have you killed?_ I wanted to ask. But would he even remember how many? Hundreds? Thousands? “For a long time?”

An even longer stretch followed. “I will always be a red-eyed stranger, even if I no longer—do that.”

“But you’ve been golden eyes for a while?” 

“Much longer than I've had red ones.”

My throat constricted. I tried to keep breathing as evenly as possible. He could hear how my heart pounded. “And. so. Red eyes are stronger, so what do golden eyes do?”

Edward shrugged. “We have more mental clarity, I suppose. We’re controlled less by our senses and emotions. It makes integrating with humans tolerable. It allows us to live in a way that red-eyed strangers can’t. But being—more docile, as we are—our physical abilities are weakened.”

“Wow. Okay. Yeah.” 

Forks High came into view and he swerved into the lot, hitting the knot of traffic from the other cars rolling in from other entrances. Edward peered out the driver-side window, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Frowned. “Kids,” he muttered.

I frowned. “Hey, wait. Yeah. You’re a vampire and you’re going to high school?” _Why wouldn’t you just get a GED or something?_

“Security detail. Treaty request.”

“You’re — what? Security?”

The line of cars idled while some dude stumbled out of a Ford, chasing after papers while he tried clutching his backpack closed. That black hair. Wasn’t that the dude who drove the van?

“Nomads — the real red-eyed strangers — will use the scent of other nomads when traveling great distances. There’s a path that runs quite close to Forks High. Our allies have recently decided it would be best for us to close up the path and monitor it for visitors. And since many of us can pass for young adults, here we are.”

“Yikes. Sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, it’s not so nightmarish. Emmett made it into a game to pass the time.”

Edward swerved into the empty spot next to an apple-red convertible with a black hood. Speak of the devil, Emmett burst from the car, laughing at something Rosalie had said. And while Rosalie brushed past my window without so much as a glance, Emmett clambered over the rear of the car, scrunched down into the passenger window, waved at the both of us, and flashed a thumbs-up to Edward.

It hit me. “Oh. Suspensions!”

And Edward mused, peering out at the convertible, “Yes, there really should be, shouldn’t there? Rose just finished toying with the engine; I’m sure it’s next on her list.”

“What? No. School suspensions. Lobster Jell-O. Is that part of the game? Is that why Alice pulled the alarm?”

Like always, Edward tried to hide a smile. “So you've put two and two together, hm?” A grin spread over my face. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Par for the course."

Edward laughed at that and climbed out of the car. “The game is to see who can rack up as many days of suspension as possible without getting expelled. The winner gets to choose where we go next. Myself, Alice, Emmett, and Rosalie are still in contention. Jasper dropped out.”

I slammed my door and hustled to walk beside him, giggling the whole way. “And so? Who’s winning?”

“Who do you think?”

“Emmett?” Edward shook his head. “Wow. Really? It can’t be you.”

“It’s not me, no.”

I wanted to keep guessing—between Alice and Rosalie, my money was on Alice—but I couldn’t help myself. “How many days have you been suspended?”

“Not enough; we’ll leave it at that. Such a shame. I would have loved to return to Brazil. Unfortunately I’ve had to abandon my streak of delinquency and devote my energy to a separate quest.”

“He bought me dinner and drove me home.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, but Angela slumped, disappointed. Knowing the Cullens—specifically Edward—could listen in from across the room, I tried to keep my voice low enough to be lost in the hum of lunchroom conversation. It probably made no difference. If anything, Edward could read my friends’ minds. _Shit, how could I forget?_

“You could’ve let us know,” said Jessica. “I mean what, did you, like, plan a date or something? Behind our backs?”

“No. What? I had no idea he was going to be there. It was a little freaky, to be honest.”

Jessica remained unconvinced. “Like he just so happened to show up at the same bookstore an hour from Forks?”

“Jess, pretty sure Bells is telling the truth.”

The hurt didn’t dissipate from Jess’ face. “You ignored my texts.”

“She ignored my text too,” Angela said. A smile pooled across her lips. “Honestly? I totally thought they were fuc—”

“Whoa, hang on,” I finished. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. “Nope. That’s not —”

“Yeah, c’mon Ang, it’s Chief Swan’s house,” Jessica snickered. “He only had time to get under her sweater.”

My voice swelled over their giggles. “ _Thanks_ ladies, good joke. It’s really not like that.”

“Maybe you should leave that judgement to the professionals,” Angela said, grinning. _Oh god please let’s not reash this “I’ve never had sex with a guy” conversation from Port Angeles, not now, not now!_

“Trust me, you’d be disappointed by how platonic our conversation was.”

“Yeah, but —”

“But you guys kissed, right?”

We looked at Jess whose eyes were wide and excited. I remained silent. Eventually, my deep blush and eyes cast down gave it away. “I mean, that’s not, it’s really not like that.”

“That’s okay. Not everyone does on the first date. Eric and I, I totally thought we weren’t but then—”

“We weren’t on a date.”

Angela and Jess scoffed and rolled their eyes, respectively. And Jess smacked her lips and said, “Well, _actually_ , you went to a fancy restaurant and then he paid for the meal and gave you a ride home, so —”

"I think what Jessica is trying to say is that, uh, don’t get discouraged! It was definitely a date. Don’t get it twisted. But people follow their own timeline,” said Angela, shooting a look. She put a hand on my wrist. “Kiss now, kiss thirty years from now, kiss never — who cares, right?” 

“Guys, this advice really isn’t relevant to me. Edward and I are just friends,” I said, my tone frosty on the last sentence.

“You gonna see him again?” asked Angela.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Was he as stuck up as everyone says?” asked Jessica, smirking. “I knew it. You can’t talk to that guy about anything.”

I could picture his face, expectant for the next words out of my mouth.

“Nothing like that. Honestly. Super down-to-earth, really nice. Easy to talk to, actually. He’s just, uh, cryptic. I think he wants to be friends?”

“But you did go out on a date,” said Angela. “Counts for something.”

“You like him though, right?” asked Jess.

I sucked in a breath. Did I? Did I even know him? Of course not. But he pulled me in with every word. I’d be lying if I said I _didn’t_ like him. But did I mean it in the same way my friends did? “It’s—I mean, I’m not—” I sighed. “It’s hard to say, I guess. There just comes a certain point when you cross a line and realize you can’t turn back.”

“Your diplomacy skills are a marvel.”

I slammed my books on the black counter and took a seat on the stool. Edward's body was cool and collected, but his hands fidgeted over his notebook. He itched to tease me, I could feel it. “Hah hah. I don’t need the play-by-play of my own conversation.”

Edward grinned. “I could tell you their thoughts. If you’re curious.”

“I could too. It’s called reading nonverbal cues and listening to what they’re saying. You could read my thoughts that way too, y’know. Or you could just ask. Gasp.”

“Reading them is much more entertaining. And if I had asked you, you would edit.”

“That’s why they’re called thoughts.” 

“I would kill to know yours.” We exchanged a look. “Figuratively.”

A young woman with coiled black hair rushed into the room then, two AV guys following her with a TV on a push cart. For a minute I waited, hoping maybe Mr. Banner would start the lesson quickly so I wouldn’t have to answer. But he didn’t show. So I murmured, as the class settled, “I think...you’re a good person. And I’m happy that we’ve settled on being civil. But I think you’re coming around. To being actual friends.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Editing.”

"Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Blue light filled the room. Static clung and crackled to the TV screen. Banner’s replacement began his lecture. 

“There’s a sub today?” I murmured, and caught Edward’s eyes. And his expression, those eyes darting away from me— _that’s_ how you read someone’s thoughts. “Edward? Where’s Mr. Banner?”

“Perhaps he decided teaching wasn’t his vocation after all.”

My blood froze. 

“What happened to him?”

“Nothing he didn’t deserve. Much less than he deserved, to be quite frank.”

 _"Edward_ ,” I hissed in a whisper. He obnoxiously scraped his chair across the floor to set it over by mine, turning the heads of everyone in class and making me drop my head into my hands in embarrassment. He chuckled, now sitting inches from me. Our arms were close to touching. If I grabbed his hand right now, would it be freezing cold? Not that I would want to. But if I did. Thank god Edward couldn’t read my thoughts.

“I didn’t kill him,” he breathed to me. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

The lights cut out; the TV’s static fizzled into film. Electricity hummed between us, as if charged particles got sucked into our gravitational pull and swelled. I could feel it, some strange pull. Which, I know, sounds totally weird. Or maybe I’m just being weird. I tried not being weird. Focused on the movie. Took notes. Didn’t look at my arm, which was dangerously close to Edward’s relaxed hand. 

A hand that killed. A hand that would kill me, too. Why not? What stopped him? What stopped him from killing everyone in the room?

“I don’t know what to think,” I murmured.

Halfway through the movie, he slid a note card towards me. On the back, in sweeping, freshly-inked cursive: _Inappropriate conduct necessitated swift and decisive action._

Inappropriate conduct? “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I hissed back to him. I frowned and looked to Edward’s measured gaze for answers. _Do you mean his conduct? Or yours?_

He leaned in and breathed, so low that I had to decipher his words from the pop of his syllables in my ear, “I decided to step in before Humbert Humbert could pursue his Lolita.”

My mouth dropped open and brought my fingers over them. The Nabokov reference turned my stomach. “Banner? What?” Pause. “Underage girls?” Edward arched a brow and my eyes widened. “Who? What? How did you —”

He waved me away, lips twisting downward, _I don’t want to talk about it._

With the videotape on a lecture I had already heard, chewing over divulged secrets that made me feel a little sick, I got up and I left. I took my stuff and left. Maybe Banner’s replacement wouldn’t tell him. She didn’t say anything as I walked out. But it wouldn’t matter if she did. I had to bolt. I had to get out of there.

_Banner had looked at me. He had looked at other girls, too; we all saw, we all knew. We did nothing. But he did. Why?_

Edward didn’t follow me. Which was good. Or bad. Who knew. God, that guy had way too many secrets.

In the safety of the computer lab, I plopped down in a chair and sighed, resting my head on my hands and rubbing my eyes. Now that I was out of class, the electricity had dissipated, the pull towards Edward released. 

But I guess I couldn't escape them forever, those Cullens.

I saw the pointed alligator-print heels first when she pulled up and sunk into a squeaking plastic chair. Designer, no doubt. But when I looked up, Alice, not Rosalie, stared back, large cider eyes sympathetic.

And she said, “Bells. Hey. You okay?”

I shook my head but said, “Everything’ll be fine. Thanks.” And when I caught her sad, off-kilter smile, I said, “Are _you_ okay?”

“Yes. I, actually, wanted to apologize.” I looked at her, quizzical. “No, really, I should. I made a mistake. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, actually. And I should’ve never messed around with your fate.”

The weirdness never stopped. I leaned back in my chair. “It’s okay. If you hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

“Yeah. About that.” Alice paused, as if hoping the dramatic silence would sink my heart further. Her finger trailed the length of a keyboard that sat next to us, fluttered, fell away. “I, I really want to make sure you’re okay. Since I was the one who told you our secret, I feel it’s my responsibility to—”

“But you didn’t,” I told her. “Edward did.”

Alice’s lips flicked into a sad smile, fingers pattered the space above her knees. “He did. Technically. To save my skin. And I, I really, I mean _truly,_ owe him the world for that. It wasn’t his responsibility. He and Rosalie didn’t even _want_ to—” Her tongue froze at the edge of her two front teeth. “Well. What’s done is done. But he’s protecting me, you know, since I was the one who initially exposed you to all this. To us. Now he’ll be taking the fall if—if something happens.” Our eyes locked.

“I won’t tell,” I whispered to her, heart sinking. “If that’s what you mean. I won’t ever.”

“I know,” she said. Then her smile flickered. “Well. I-I—I guess I don’t know for sure. With you. That’s what’s frustrating about this. I have this overwhelming sense that you and I are—I don’t know. Linked? Your future is entangled with Edward and our family. It has been for several weeks now. My visions of you are strong—and with my _particular talents_ , a strong vision is a good sign that my prediction will be right. Except with you, they’re wrong.” Alice frowned, brow crinkled, index finger tapping on the edge of the desks. She huffed. “And. Well. I let it get the better of me. And I’m sorry.” Alice smirked to herself, then said, “Edward was right. I do get cocky.”

“You seem pretty humble to me, I dunno.”

“You’re a treasure, Bells. No, I’ll admit, you’ve been quite humbling for me. And Edward, for that matter. You know, I’ve seen flickers of you in my head before, and I. Well, if the future says anything, it’s that I’d be remiss if I didn’t try to be your best friend. But. Things are—things have been a little volatile lately. As I’m sure you’ve seen. And since the cat’s out of the bag, you should know—” Alice lowered her voice while a student passed. We eyed him and he pretended not to notice. “Seattle has been—sort’ve a hotspot for us. And I’m not sure it’d be in your best interest to go alone. And I’d love to be friends. So. I’m hoping I could join you on your little jaunt on Saturday? Please? I had a vision a few weeks ago—you’re still going, right?”

All of this sunk into my skin slowly. The danger. The fact that Edward was only getting close to me to take the responsibility off of Alice. Come to think of it, he had probably invited me to Seattle the other week at her behest. 

But her warmth compelled me to say, “Yes.” Maybe it would be days, weeks, months until I realized what the consequences of her actions would be. But she did feel like a friend. Like a sister. Inexplicably. “I’d love to go with you.”

And how could I help but love her when her reaction to my acceptance was pattering her feet and squealing in excitement? “Oh. This is going to be great. Okay. I have this vision of a dress you’re going to _love_. It’s at Bloomingdale’s. Are you okay leaving by nine? How do you feel about Thai food? Can I drive?”

I couldn’t help a giggle. “Cool, I’ll tell Charlie the trip’s back on. That’s a Yes to everything but a No on the driving. The Thing comes with. I’m trying to make a point.”

“The Thing?”

“That’s its name.”

Alice squealed. “I love it. I love you. I love that name. Oh, look at us! At least one of my visions came true. Isn’t that great?”


	10. Chapter 9

Every time I try to run, I can’t get anywhere.

  
In my dreams, after the fall knocks the wind from my lungs, after I've landed on the jagged, mossy floor, my ribs scrape, crack, burn like tobacco to ash. They scratch the underside of my skin while I twist and clamber over fallen trunks and rocks. My legs are small, stubby; so are my arms. When I push away the icy ferns, their dew drops tumble off my skin, sparkling under the ribbon of light glinting through the darkness.

  
I follow the light because I don’t know what to do. I follow the light because I am desperate. I follow the light because the icy mist prickles my skin like pine needles, and that light keeps me from freezing to death. I follow the light because the light holds me. I follow the light. Darkness comes. I am desperate. I follow the light.

  
Something snatches me. Blackness crashes.

What else is there to do? Purge to fall asleep again: Draw. Small sketches, scribbles where the lines feel free to run wild. My charcoal snaps from the heavy pressure.

  
In the morning, after two more nightmares, the sketch, like my stained hands, will be bold, black, and angry. Dark fingerprints litter the sheets and pillows.

  
I remember little, if nothing.


	11. Chapter 10, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they hike

“So, let me guess: Alice’s vision was wrong?”

Edward wore a rueful smile standing there in front of his car with his arms folded across his chest. His heavy coat shielded the shitty morning drizzle from seeping into his clothes. Behind him, thick ribbons of fog wafted through the pines; a crow cawed in the distance.

“This isn’t normally like her, I assure you.”

“I hope so,” I said, slinging my bag onto the hood of The Thing with a _thunk_ . My left hand fiddled with a set of jangling keys. “Boy, she really _does_ owe you for being the responsible one, huh?”

This time he had a genuine laugh for me. “She may have poor success with you, but she’s frighteningly accurate with the rest of us. And since I can read her mind, she knows that her upcoming apology already has my approval.”

I grinned. “Lots of soul bearing going on, I hope? A dozen red roses? Maybe a few tears?” 

That drew him out; he untangled his arms and tucked his hands into the pockets of his peacoat. “Much better. A 1901 Steinway Model B.” His mouth snapped shut. Twitched. After another beat of silence, it all spilled out: “It’s a gorgeous thing, too, truly, the carved trim in the legs, the lyre, the rack, and it’s got a fully rebuilt action with new key sticks, and the soundboard is _just_ —” Edward looked like he’d just dazzled himself. “Yes. Alice knows. It’s a good apology.”

“Pretty good bounty, huh. Now I see what you’re really after,” I said, grinning. 

“Well, sure, the piano is nice, but at the end of the day, she is my sister. I’m happy to do her a favor. This favor, in particular.” He caught his smile before it spread and looked down.

There was something to be said about the way Edward and Alice spoke about each other, how they held each other in high regard despite their flaws and mistakes. It boded well for their character, at the very least. “Well I’m glad you’re getting something good out of it, anyway. —Where is Alice, by the way?”

His face flickered “She’s been gone for about a day and a half, now.” And since he knew what my next question would be, he added: “In Seattle.”

My heart sunk. “Oh. So. She doesn’t want to hang out anymore, or?”

Now Edward’s serious air returned. And hesitance. His eyes followed the blotchy pattern of chipped red paint on The Thing’s side mirror. Wind picked up our conversation while we breathed in cool mist. “It’s not that. Alice is… When I say this isn’t normal for her, I mean that—” Edward paused, deciding against his original thought. “When Alice gets stressed, she gets lost. In the future. She has visions constantly. In attempting to act out some perfect chain of events, she’ll lose her present: her sense of time, place, and self. It can be difficult to reason with her. Difficult to watch.”

“Oh.” Damn, that sounded kinda horrible, actually. “Is she okay? Did something happen?”

Edward frowned. “She will be, I’m sure. It's just that she has a—hm—understandable vendetta against a particular nomad, and has been getting many visions about him. He and his two mates have been lurking around our territory. And if they attack us or do anything to provoke our allies—” At the sight of my expression, Edward’s face smoothened. “Well. Alice is doing her best to follow orders and ensure we avoid confrontation.”

“Is she—She’s not like, going to kill them, is she?” I said.

At first, I assumed the silence would give me my answer. But then Edward murmured, “I wish I could tell you,” in a way that implied his own ignorance. “If I read Alice’s mind, I see what she sees. And she only sees the future. —Anyway. I apologize for having to be the bearer of bad news."

I shrugged to try and shake off the residual rejection. “Ah, it’s whatever. I’m not one to shoot the messenger.” But one good thing about Alice ditching I guess: that the bearer of bad news was Edward Cullen. “Are you trying out the new piano today?”

“No. It’s not coming for another year.” 

“A _year_?” Alice wouldn’t apologize for another three hundred and sixty-something days?

“Oh, a year is nothing. Besides, a woman in Pennsylvania has to die before I can get my hands on it.” And when he saw my eyes widen, he explained: “Cancer. Not us. We’ll get it at auction. For cheap, too, if bidder three-oh-four doesn’t show up.”

“Fingers crossed they get food poisoning.” 

“A strategy to consider, surely. —And as for your Saturday?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Ah, or, perhaps you’ll be saving Eric Newton a dance later this evening, now that you’re free?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help a chuckle. Right—Sadie Hawkins _._ Actually, come to think of it, none of my friends from school would be available today. They all had plans to get ready together for the dance. Even Charlie had plans to see Billy. Now what? “Har har. —I dunno what I’ll do. Bum around, I guess. Drive. Maybe go hiking or something. —You wanna come?”

“Huh?”

“Hiking? Or driving? With me?” I shrugged. 

Edward arched a brow. “Hiking?” 

Oh god, this was quickly devolving into an Eric Newton situation. And I was Eric Newton. “Uh, I mean, I’m sure you’d probably have to, y’know, not do it vampire-style, but. —Er, well, unless you’re not into it?”

“No, I—no. I like hiking.” He paused like he was tendering his letter of rejection. But then: “I’d be happy to accompany you. If you wish.”

I laughed and said, “How about if _you_ wish?” but slung my bag over my shoulder anyway and went to the driver’s side of the truck. The door groaned when I threw it open.

“You’re going to drive this?”

I hopped up and spoke to him over the truck’s roof. “Actually, it’s called The Thing, thank you very much. And I drive it every day.” I swung myself inside, unlocked the passenger door, and threw it open. An offer.

“This ‘thing’ shouldn’t even be legal.”

I smirked, bouncing back to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life. “If you’ve got concerns with legality, you’re welcome to bring it up with the Chief of Police. —Coming?”

“Do you know where you’re going?” he said.

“Well, uh, not entirely,” I replied, charcoal-stained nails tapping the wheel. “But getting there is half the fun. I’ve been told.”

Edward inhaled. Held it. Sighed. “You know, keeping you alive is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be,” he said, climbing in after me.

Black roads shimmered with fresh rain, lighting our path out of Forks up like it was a yellow brick road. We rumbled east through the town’s main drag into the rising sun, passing a shuttered dry cleaner’s, a bank, two restaurants, and a motel.

Edward had mentioned a meadow mottled with vibrant flowers that was only a few miles’ hike from the one-ten highway. In-between mulling over my music options, he fed me directions. And even multitasking as he was, he seemed: real. If that makes sense.

Maybe because, for the first time since I met him, he was enveloped in his own world, undistracted by someone else’s. Not distracted by being someone else. What’s more, he allowed someone to observe that change in him—which seemed even more shocking, especially for someone who’s had to build a life of secrets. 

Here, stuck in a truck with the only person he couldn’t read, he could be himself: Edward without the vampirism. Bobbing his head to the beat, subdividing with his right foot, keeping watch over the stretch of twisting roads ahead of us. Was he humming? 

It’s cool, you know? Weirdly intimate. Seeing someone for the first time. Really seeing them, I mean. Watching them sit and do nothing while simultaneously giving themselves away. Watching them be relaxed. People bloom like flowers when you connect with them a little. When you take notice.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

“Ha ha. If I don’t stop to dump you off in a ditch somewhere, maybe.”

His chuckle was low and slight. “Turn right on one-ten,” he said. “Here we are. Now we drive until the pavement ends.”

A guitar strummed a rhythm that a violin echoed while we drove in and out of sunlight. Clouds tumbled over a lake-blue sky and swept under the sun. By the way he relaxed into the seat, hummed a harmony to the song while his fingers drifted through the air to the melody, smiled at me — I don’t know. His progress from my first day was incredible. When I once dreaded having a conversation with him, now I craved more. Who am I? Is this normal?

"What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“I’m — I’m thinking about, uh—”

“You’re thinking about how you’re going to edit.”

“Dammit.” I laughed. “Okay, okay. Fine. Unedit? I guess—I was sorta thinking about you.”

“Uh oh.”

“No, no, c’mon! Not like that.” Giggling, I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Just that, y’know, compared to the first day we met, you seem so much more—I dunno. Chill.”

Edward cracked up. “ _Chill_?”

"You know what I mean.”

“Chilled out, man. Maxin.”

“Wow. See? You would’ve never made that dumb joke several weeks ago. Seriously, what’s happened to you? Who _are_ you?”

“No one. Nothing. I don’t know. Nothing’s changed,” he mused, drumming his fingers on his crossed knee. “I hunt every day now. Maybe that’s it. Or perhaps it helps to—acclimate myself. To your scent. I’m not sure.”

While The Thing grumbled over the one-ten, Edward asked me questions. Some about music. Few about my past. A lot about how I viewed the world, and who I wanted to be, and how I wanted the world to be. I told him I was figuring things out. He told me he was too.

“Why do you think you’ll major in Biology?”

 _So I can get into med school and never be late on rent again._ “It’s interesting, I guess, knowing what’s inside things. As a kid I used to pick things apart.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Like plants and bugs and dead animals with a stick.” At that, Edward crinkled his nose. “What? Don’t act like you didn’t do the same thing.”

Then he wanted to know what I missed about Phoenix. My mom, I replied. Empanadas at La Casa. Rene’s favorite dive bar downtown that let me read books on its empty stage. 

Questions about Phoenix prompted requests for me to describe things. Impossible things, like the scent of creosote — bitter, resinous, calming. How cicadas sound humming in July. What the feathery barrenness of the trees look like in the morning. I told him about how beautiful cacti look when they’re holding a setting sun.

“It was such a relief,” I said, “to find home. A home. No matter how brief it was.”

“Do you think you could think of Forks as your home?”

“Maybe. I’m loving how green and beautiful this place is. But who knows, y’know. Something about Forks weirds me out. I think I’m just not getting enough sleep.”

Ahead, the road petered out to a small, dirt path. I parked the truck against the shoulder, threw on the emergency brake, and killed the engine. A thick band of trees climbed up mountainous terrain. Crisp, wet air chilled my skin.

Honestly, hiking an unfamiliar path made me nervous that I would fall and break my neck. But Edward knew where he was going, moved with a sort of confidence that rubbed off on me. Or maybe I was actually getting strong enough to move with purpose. Maybe lifting weights had its benefits besides defending my virginity, escaping the law, and victory in a rematch with Georgi.

Our shoes squeaked over crushed ferns and decomposing twigs. Over fallen trees and slippery boulders, he held out his hand for me. Truthfully, I never needed it. I just liked it because I was touching his hand. I think he had noticed that my heart beat erratically with each wave of energy that passed between us. If anything, he was a good sport about it.

For the most part, we walked in silence. Listening to the crunch of dead matter underneath our shoes. Listening to leaves shushing each other in the wind. Maybe he liked hearing all of it: everything down to an animal’s steps, a bird’s fluttering wings, my own stuttering heartbeat. What I _knew_ he liked was watching my face examine the labyrinth of ancient trees, the ferns, the leaves, the dew-soaked spiderwebs—I was mesmerized by shapes and colors, and he knew it. He kept glancing at me and smiling. Once in a while, he’d throw out a question to me: how it felt, what I saw, what I thought. 

Light trickled through a small opening a hundred yards ahead, and Edward’s smile faltered. Eager, my pace picked up. We climbed up two more clusters of rocks, and then there, at the mouth of the meadow, light splashed across our shoes. I burst from the thicket into the warmth of the sun.

It’s places like this that remind you how gorgeous and breathtaking the planet can be.

Wildflowers littered the meadow—buttery yellow, violet, and eggshell white, petals bobbing under the weight of bees and butterflies. Warm air combed through the overgrown grass, carrying with it the chorus of chirping birds and bugs. Near the middle-left of the opening stood a cluster of stooping willows, protecting sprouts of lush baby grass from the beating sun.

“Wow, can you believe that places like this actually exist on earth?” I said, sucking in the air and laughing at how sweet and fresh it smelled. I whipped around to face him with a grin on my face. 

But Edward hadn’t moved from the shadows; from where he stood, only broken bits of sunlight hit his torso and shoes. “I guess I didn’t realize it would be sunny,” he said. “It’s usually not.”

“Why, what’s—oh. Wait. Is it a vampire thing? Are you gonna burst into flames if you come out?”

That slid some of the unease from his face and shoulders. “We’re not that flammable, no. I just don’t want to frighten you.”

“Frighten me? Oh. How come? —Can you join me? Even for a minute, c’mon, please?"

He grimaced but trailed behind me into the sunlight.

As we strolled to one of the only trees standing in the meadow, the willow on the left, he kept his eyes trained ahead. Shadows carved the curves of his neck, the muscles of his jaw, his forearms, and sliced the skin of his dewy face. His cheeks flushed. He looked sunken and sickly and more alive than he had ever been, all at once. How the hell did he even do that?

When he glanced at me to catch my expression, I could see pink bleeding into the edges of his glassy, golden irises.

“Your eyes,” I murmured, brow crinkling. _Did they get bigger?_ “How?”

“My body heats up in the sun,” he said. “I process more energy at a quicker rate. But the excess metabolism of energy tricks my body into thinking I’ve had a large quantity of human blood. My features get sharper, my senses get sharper. In the sun I look—more alive. More appealing. At a cost.” As he crept into the shade of the willow tree, Edward’s muscles smoothened into something less sharp and intimidating. His eyes remained rose-gold and the faint blush never left his cheekbones or lips. “It’s a temporary advantage. You gain power and leverage, but an insatiable thirst. Vampires avoid the sun not because they’ll burst into flames, but because we lose our sensibilities and risk exposing our existence to humans. We’re quick to lose control and hard to tame.”

I sat across from him, hugging my knees to my chest. My bag fell in the open spot between my legs; I rummaged for a water bottle and a granola bar. “So what’s the big deal if you expose your existence to humans? Like if you kill someone, couldn’t you hypothetically just kill everyone, the whole town, everyone that person ever knew?”

I couldn’t tell if his _hmph_ was supposed to be a chuckle. “We could. If we were so inclined to die. The universal taboo in our world is allowing humans to discover our existence, and this rule is enforced by an authoritative body of vampiristic fae. No human can know, and no vampire can tell—or demonstrate. Or hint. There should be no, er, _continuity errors_ , shall we say. No contradiction. And if there is, if there are unexplainable mishaps, human witnesses, newborn frenzies, not-so-hidden clues, then the authoritative body— the Volturi—are summoned. And they are rarely, if ever, merciful.”

“So if they knew that I knew, or if they knew that you told me about...y’know. All this. That’d be it for us? We’d die?”

“You would die. I would die. My family would die, since it would be a politically convenient excuse to destroy us. Our allies, if discovered, would surely be killed as well.”

 _Oh._ “So no pressure.”

“Bells,” he murmured in a low voice, “I told you in Port Angeles that if you didn’t comply with our pact of silence, I would have to make you comply.” Chills shot down my spine. “These are not my wishes, as I’ve said. But they are law. I must obey, and by extension, so must you.”

“Y-yeah, no, of course. You don’t have to worry about me talking. I won’t, I swear.”

Edward’s chuckle bordered on being a hum. “I believe you. I’m not asking you to reaffirm your allegiance to secrecy. But my honesty is just as necessary as your consent. I cannot sugarcoat these consequences for you. That wouldn’t be fair for either of us.”

“Yeah. Right. No, well, I mean I, y’know, sorta walked into this whole thing knowing something was up. Like I could’ve just accepted you and your family were—odd. But I didn’t, and I’m aware of that choice. Honest, though, I haven’t said anything; I wouldn't give away your secret like that.”

Edward remained serene. “Please. You giving away our secret is the least of my concern. You didn’t even capitalize on the opportunity to brag to Jess about how we were on a date.” A beat of silence passed between us. Edward smiled with sharp teeth that startled me. “You’re blushing.”

 _Dammit._ “See? This is proof that you know you dazzle people. No, I’m serious. Like being on a date with you is _bragging_ ?” Edward couldn't stop laughing; I blushed harder. “And I don’t care what Jess and Ang have to say. It was never decidedly a date.” _God Bells, get it together—_

“Unedit for me. For my sake. You’re blushing.”

“Well, yeah! Only because, I mean, well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve always found you—” _cough cough the most attractive person I’ve ever seen in my life with the sole exception of Rosalie Hale—_ “Sorry. I don’t know where my head’s at, I guess. Just, seeing you here, in the sun…” What’s a word to describe someone who looks horrifically beautiful, the most gorgeous parody of a human ever known? “Uh. You’re a real Dorian Gray type.”

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a lilting song so gorgeous I was worried he’d pull a Snow White on me and summon all the forest’s woodland creatures to our meadow. On the other side, near the underbrush, leaves sprung and bounced; a deer had darted away. Close enough, I guess.

“Would that make you my Basil?”

“You can make me” _whatever_ _you want._

As soon as the words left my mouth, my brain panicked: lights, sirens, shouted curse words, the whole shebang. But Edward took it with grace, as per usual. “The sunlight, it clouds your judgement too. It’s all predatory. You see? Everything is supposed to draw you in: my voice, my face, my smell, my touch. Not that I would need any of that, if it came down to it.”

While I sipped my water, he picked up a charcoal-colored rock the size of his palm and held it out in the light, where it glimmered. He closed his hand and crunched it down in his fingers until sand slipped from the cracks in his fist. I nearly choked.

“What? How?” Pale skin speckled with glittering flakes of crushed rock. “Can I?” I asked, gesturing to his open hand. His brows twitched into a frown but he didn’t move a muscle. When I cupped his hand, the shock of our discrepancy in temperature made us both shudder. The sun beating down hadn’t warmed him.

But as the shock subsided, as our temperatures evened out, what remained were billions of electrified atoms that made the back of my brain tingle. A shot of serotonin straight up the spine.

I ran a fingernail across the grooves of his palm, wiping away streaks of sediment, lost in the shape of it all. If I were to draw his hands, I'd accent the shadows pooling in its contours. How the graphite made his skin glitter. But how would I capture the feel of him? Marble-smooth flesh, icy and sturdy and velvety and invigorating — I could draw it, but would a human understand?

“Do I not scare you as I am?”

I looked up at him but didn’t drop his hand. Without a second thought, my thumbs trailed down the sloping lines of his palm and pressed into his wrists, where his veins are. Were. Would be? He shuddered.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I am scared. But it’s different. I dunno. Chemical fear. Natural fear. You’re supposed to make me afraid, and I’m aware of that. But I’ve never been afraid of you. As a person. If that makes sense.” I couldn’t stop touching his hand, couldn’t get enough of that static. “Hey. Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

I brushed my thumb over his palm, generating sparks. With every moment that passed, I grew shier, more embarrassed. If I brought it up, would he pull away? “Can you—feel that?”

“I can.”

“Not the pressure of my fingers,” I said. “Or the heat. Or how it feels. But can you—do you notice—there’s, like— _electricity_? Wh-when I—”

“All the time, yes.”

“What is that?”

Edward shrugged, shaking his head. “You?”

My mind flashed back to the science class when we watched that movie. How it felt between us. How this energy, now, was stronger. Getting stronger.

“Me? If anything it's—" Although, now that I thought about it, it might make sense. Another thing wrong with my head. If it _was_ me causing it, could it be something I could control? "I s’pose you can’t hear my thoughts right now, huh?”

“No. Why?”

“Well,” I said in an exhale, toying with the idea in my head. “Remember how you mentioned that when you’re close to people, you can read their thoughts easier? Maybe this is a 'me' thing too. And if the—I don't know, energy—gets stronger when we're—" _Don't look at him don't look at him—_ "Maybe it's a distance thing. Maybe you just need to get closer to me than you do with other people, y’know? Maybe I’m quiet.”

Who the hell knows how I managed to muster up the courage to look up at his shadowed face from my place in the sun, inches from mine. Edward was thinking, brow furrowed. Eyes pinned to my face. My lips. Wind surged; I lost my breath in the vacuum of it all.

“I never thought of it,” he murmured, cool breath washed over my face. Luring me. If I got close enough, would he be able to read my thoughts? Would he know I was thinking of kissing him? Would I care if I found out? Didn’t I want him to find out?

I leaned in.

He disappeared in a swipe of wind, hand ripping from my grasp, almost knocking me forward. Only after I squinted to scan the edge of the meadow did I see that he had zipped twenty feet back, crouched at the back of a tree’s long shadow. 

He crept back to me in a quick trail of movement that stunned me. 

And he said, looking everywhere but my eyes, “That’s—I— can’t. Being this close to humans, being so close to, to you…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Please. Don’t apologize. I'm sorry. It’s—preternatural reactions at work.”

“Were you going to kill me?”

Edward looked like he was watching himself drown somewhere in the middle distance. “Well, I, I wouldn’t say that, uh, that it was your blood, specifically, just then, I just, I— I don’t think it appropriate of me to...act...human. To—take advantage.”

“Take advantage?”

“Of the power dynamic. Of the—situation. Between us. And with it being sunny, I. I don’t think it’s best.” He squeezed his eyes shut like he was trying to repeat the mantra over and over in his head.

I softened. “Oh." Was that all? "It’s okay. Wasn’t I technically the one taking advantage? Since I, uh.” Edward said nothing. So instead I picked at the edges. “If. Uh. If there wasn’t a, uh, dynamic. Do you think, maybe, you...”

“I think it would be dangerous to pretend it doesn’t exist,” he said.

“But, but would you? Would you—get closer? If you could?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that a nice way of saying no? Because you can just say no. I don’t mind.” Actually, I _would_ mind, but for the sake of spilling his guts, I wouldn’t mind taking one for the team. My team. 

He still wouldn’t look at me, but his expression grew more pained. “I am having a difficult time reconciling my preternatural needs with my human—” he struggled for a word “—ness. It’s not something that’s ever— I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to interact. This isn’t me.”

That might be the closest I would ever get to a confession. Although I still had no idea what the hell he was trying to get at. “Do you think it’s been getting better, maybe? Your—thirst?” I blushed at the word and tried covering up my embarrassment. “What’s it like for you? Being here with me? Is there something I can do to make it easier?”

“Oh, I’m not sure if that’s possible.” Moments passed by us, and he turned his palm to cup my hand, light as air. Pulled away. “Every human smells different,” he explained. “Some smell more delicious than others. All of them are appetizing to a degree—even the most delicately scented humans offer temptation—but it’s the level of gravitational pull that makes all the difference.

“And then there are some humans that just—sing. I never thought it would be such an apt description but, truly, there’s no better word. Their blood _calls_ to you, sucks you in. Like the gravitational pull of a black hole. Or like sensing water when you’re about to die of thirst. Or like a song that hits all your favorite chords. Their heartbeat is all you can hear. Their scent is all you can smell. You can practically taste them on your lips.” And he glanced again at mine. “We call them your singer, _la tua cantante_. And—and that is what you are.” Beat. “To me.”

 _Another opportunity to push._ “And without the, uh, singing? What am I to you?” Edward stayed silent. As in, we sat in silence for almost a full minute. He never answered. Fine: “Does that happen often? The singing thing?”

His brows furrowed. “ _La tua cantante_ is rare, but singers do exist. I suppose everyone is a singer, to some extent. To Jasper, for example, every one of you is much the same. He's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell. Even still, he struggled to recall a human who smelled as appealing as, as you do to me.

“Using that as a point of reference, there are, I suppose, two members of the coven who’ve faced similar challenges. Emmett has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says twice, for him, once stronger than the other.”

“Who else had it?”

“Rose did,” said Edward, not looking at me. 

“And did any of the singers survive?” The guilt on his face said no.

Edward took a long pause. “Rose’s singer was Emmett.” Beat.

“So you haven’t had it? Before?”

“Never. No singers, no _tua cantante_. If I did, it wasn’t like this. Not by a million miles. Based on my family’s memories, no one else has experienced anything this intense either. I envy them.”

 _Is this another line, already passed?_ I pulled away. “Am—am I here to die, then?”

“ _No._ No. Those people were strangers at the time, even Emmett didn’t know Rose before they—before she— And it was a long time ago. They're more careful, more practiced. As am I. I wouldn’t kill you. I couldn’t kill you.” He rose. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— Perhaps we should get going, hm?”

He offered a hand to me, the one that had crushed the rock earlier. I chewed the inside of my lip.

“Don’t be sorry,” I told him. I took his hand and pulled myself up. “I want to know these things. It’s important, y’know. Information.” But he didn’t address that either.

“I know this takes a lot of trust on your end. Thank you.” We walked to the edge of the forest, where the sunlight beams spattered the forest floor. Silent. “You want to learn more about us, hm? After all this?” I nodded. “Would you like to see something fun?”

“Will it involve me getting back home safely?”

“Always.”

I lit up. “Okay. Sure, yeah. What’re we doing?”

"I'll show you how I travel in the forest." 

"Cool, what? No way. Are you gonna turn into a bat or something?”

He laughed, louder than I'd ever heard. "I’m not that kind of fae. Hop on.”

At his insistence, I clambered onto his back, wrapped my legs around his waist and crossed my arms around him as tight as I could, soaking up the oxytocin between us. Before he took off, I murmured in his ear, “Wait, wait, hang on. Whaddya think. Can you hear me now?”

His response came delayed. “All I can hear is your heartbeat.”

He let it sink in, and then he took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, it's me again  
> just popping in to say the support i've gotten on this story so far has been amazing & so wonderfully appreciated. i'm FLOORED that y'all are having a grand ol time!! this has been SO fun to write  
> so, yeah, let's do this again sometime, huh?


	12. Chapter 10, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they talk

We streaked through the dark, thick underbrush like a bullet, like a ghost. Barely a whisper of sound, as though there were no evidence that his feet touched the ground. Icy forest air scorched my cheeks. 

The dark and damp struck me. I couldn’t hide it; I was afraid. Afraid this man would kill me, afraid there was some sort of secret spot he murdered people. I didn’t want him to murder me. I wasn’t ready to be murdered by anyone. The forest made me uneasy. The forest made me cry, and the tears were blown off my face. 

Then it was over. Wind ceased. We'd hiked hours this morning to reach Edward's meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, we were back to the truck. Probably. I still hadn’t managed to open my eyes and tear myself from the crook of Edward’s neck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" His voice was high, excited.

He stood motionless, waiting for me to climb down. I tried, but my muscles wouldn't respond. My arms and legs stayed locked around him while my head spun, while all my atoms panicked. Tears kept streaming down my face, onto the collar of his shirt.

“You’re shaking.”

“Sorry. I think my face was torn off. Maybe I’ll just, uh, stay here for a minute.”

Edward chuckled and started unlocking me from his neck. “I apologize. In hindsight, it doesn’t seem like the best idea.”

“No. It was fun,” I said, stumbling onto the ground stumbling, stumbling, back—

Into Edward Cullen’s arms, just like that day he saved me from the van. Except this time, he grinned down at me instead of glared. He hoisted me back to my feet. “You’re not upset?”

“Of course not.” Kinda. I was upset. I was upset at the forest for being such a scary place. I was upset at myself because I was  _ crying.  _ On a  _ date(?) _ . What kind of perfect date(?) ends with one person crying? 

I apologized again, but Edward was gentlemanly about the whole thing. He laughed at my jokes and draped the spicy scent of his coat around my shoulders and told me things were okay, that he was sorry, that we wouldn’t do it again. He even let me drive my truck without having an attitude. 

He almost let me pick the songs, but I insisted. The passenger picks the music. It’s practically the law.

“You have to order the decades musically from your most to least favorite,” he told me, glancing through the tracklist of the three CDs in his left hand. 

“All of them?”

“The ones you know.”

“Okay.” A million songs flashed through my brain while my tongue touched my teeth. “Uh, so, let’s see: seventies, nineties, aughts—”

He smirked. “Figures.”

“—eighties, sixties, fifties. Don’t give me that look.”

“Fifties? at the bottom? I’m surprised.”

“ _ Surprised _ ?” Our side-eyed glances implied an impending argument. “Okay, fine. Enlighten me, All-Knowing One.” He shot me a smug smile; I rolled my eyes. “Decades, let’s hear ‘em.”

“Twenties —”  _ Shocker _ . “—fifties, tens, thirties, forties, sixties, eighties, and seventies.” 

“Seventies? At the  _ bottom _ ? You’re kidding.” 

“Most of it is garbage.”

“Garbage?!” I jumped in my seat, gripping the steering wheel. “Are you kidding me? Elton John? Michael Jackson? Queen? Garbage? Do you know what garbage is?”

“You didn’t experience the seventies like I had to.” 

“But you’re cool to turn right around and say you like fifties bubblegum  _ trash _ ?”

“Bubblegum _ pop _ , which you’re referring to, was late sixties, actually,” he said, teeth flashing in a smile. “And no. I’m talking about pure rock ‘n’ roll.”

“ _ Pure _ .” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, old-timer.” That startled him, made him fall silent. I glanced at him after a semi passed us. He didn't look at me. “How old are you? —Don’t say nineteen. I’ve heard that one.”

His answer came delayed. “Old.”

I laughed. He did not. “Not a great preface, I’ll be honest.” He never spoke. “What, you’re not gonna tell me? Aw, c’mon. Please? I’ll take back what I said about rock ‘n’ roll. Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Little Richard—wonderful. Studs. I mean it. —Please tell me?”

“Let’s say, twice as old as Mr. Banner.”

“Ew, what?” I smirked, glancing out at the lush scenery. “That’s a weird way of putting it.”

“Is it? I think that the way things are panning out, it’s an apt comparison,” he said, arching an eyebrow at me. 

I laughed. He did not. Again. And I realized: holy shit, this guy’s  _ serious _ . “Apt? No way. Don't even. —What, you mean because of the, our, dynamic? —Because we, we’re….” Edward nodded, not looking at me. My attention pulled back to the highway, slowed at a sharp bend. “That’s totally different. Banner takes advantage whether you want him to or not. I mean, he’s looked at me in—”

“Don’t. I know.”

“You  _ know _ ?” Pause. “You mean...wait, you’ve seen—”

“ _ Don’t _ .”

“Him and me?”

“ _ Yes _ , stop,” he snapped. “I—why do you think I threw him out of school?”

“Literally?”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “ _ No _ , not literally. I mean I blackmailed him into resigning. Among other things.”

“You  _ blackmailed  _ our  _ teacher _ ?” 

“Banner isn’t fit for that title. I blackmailed an ephebophile. Rose and I are gathering his online information to send to the police. It’s the least he deserves, surely.”

“You and Rose, huh?”

“Mm. She’s more tech-savvy than I am. And this brand of vigilante justice is, or was, a sort of—hobby of ours. Though we’re more merciful these days than we’d like to be.” That last sentence made him frown.

“And you’re saying you and him are the  _ same _ ? Do you hear how crazy that is? Are you telling me that your primary sexual interests involve—”

“ _No_. Absolutely not. Not at all. But. It’s just—with, with _you_ — How could I not say that I— Experiencing any level of—it’s, God, this _—_ it’s _weird_ — The dynamic—”

“You’re really freaking out, huh?”

“Should I not be freaking out? Shouldn’t  _ you  _ be freaking out?”

I shrugged. “Look, if you’d just tell me your age, I’m sure I’d be able to make a judgement call on my own. But I know you know there’s a difference between  _ having _ a power dynamic and using it to—”

“Let’s not.” Edward huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Forget it. Fine. If that’s what it’ll take, fine. I was born in, in 1905. In Chicago.” He slowed. Maybe for dramatic effect. But I never answered. “Carlisle treated me in the summer of 1925. At the time, I was nineteen. Dying of tuberculosis.” Pause. 

My heart hammered; I knew he could tell. “Do you remember? It?” I didn’t know if I was referring to his life or his death.

“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember much; scraps, really. But I do remember how it felt when Carlisle changed me. It’s not something you could forget."

"What about your parents? Did they know what happened to you?"

"My mother had died from the Spanish influenza several years back. My father was—not the same after the war, after he came back and found out that she—hm. That was why Carlisle chose me. Realistically, very few people would realize I was gone. Or, I suppose I should say, very few people would care."

"So he—bit you? Am I profiling again?"

A few seconds passed before he answered. He seemed to choose his words carefully. "No, you’re right. Venom. Myths and truth overlap from time to time.”

“Boy. So it’s true? Wow. Are there—a lot of you, then? Out there?”

“Ah, see—the human myth is how easy it is to change someone. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. Certainly not myself, nor any of my siblings. After Emmett, Rose would never. Hm. Yes. Come to think of it, I struggle to think of anyone who could, save for Carlisle. Most fae are ‘born’ by accident.” Another silence. A sax solo crooned over the radio. Edward frowned. “Cannonball Adderley?”

“This? Charlie Parker.”

“Ah.”

“Can I ask why Carlisle chose you?”

“Surely, I had my suspicions beforehand. And death has a way of lowering your inhibitions.” Pause. “I’m not clear on the details. But. Carlisle tells me I cried and begged him to.”

“Oh. Wow. I’m—so sorry.” 

“Water under the bridge,” he murmured, far away. “Knowing what I know now, I understand why he did it. He was lonely. He shouldn’t have taken me at my dying wish—which, I suppose, is gray enough of an area to not despise him for his choice. Still, I understand what drove him. All of his relatives had died hundreds of years ago. Most people don’t get close to Carlisle, but we had fun together. We played gin rummy and chess. I swindled him out of fifty dollars.” Edward’s smile was sad and somewhere else. “As the consumption progressed, he read me the Bible I’d inherited from my mother. He lent me his copy of  _ À la recherche du temps perdu. _ ”

“Proust.”

“That’s right.”

We rode the rest of the way home saying few words. His eyes traced trees that dotted the road. His fingers twitched to the melody of the music. Whenever I’d go to say something, his lips would be a tight line, and I’d decide against it. How often did he think about it, his death? How did he cope? With himself? With his family? With losing everyone he ever loved?

Would I be able to do that? Not saying that it would happen, of course. I didn’t even know if I would want it to happen, even for all the heightened senses. But either way, I’d have to die someday. How, as an adult, will I cope with the inevitability of death?

I pulled into Charlie’s driveway and parked there with the emergency brake thrown on. Cut the engine, though the radio still crooned. We both sat listening to the music, thinking. 

Finally, he spoke: “If it’s too much —”

“No.”

“It seems like maybe you’re bothered. By my being dead. Or, or by the—how old I am.”

“Me, bothered? I thought you were bothered.”

“I’m bothered by the fact that I’m even alive for this conversation. But if anyone should be bothered,” _ It should be you.  _

“No one is meant to exist anywhere, I don’t think,” I said, unsure. “Especially now that I know about all this. The random happenstance that we’re together at the same time is good enough for me. I don’t know. That’s how I’m justifying everything. Anyway, it’s not like I can sit here talking about ‘the right way’ the universe should be run. I would’ve died from that van if you weren’t there to save me.”

“You seem much more calm about this than I assumed you would be.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I don’t have my head wrapped around it. I dunno. But at the same time, how could I, y’know? Life is strange enough as it is, but death comes for you regardless of how many times you freak out about it.”

“Hah! I like that.”

"Can I ask you something?” I picked at the fabric of my coat.  _ Would this be rude to say? _ “What do you do? For all eternity? Like how do you pass the time?”

“Good question,” he mused. “Make the world a better place, I suppose. In the small ways you can.”

“Yeah, but what do  _ you  _ do?”

“I don’t know. Play piano.”

“Huh.” I nodded, mind wandering with the guitar riff plucking in the background. How wonderful. To forever submerge yourself in a system of perfect mathematics— “That doesn’t sound so bad. I mean, if you’re living over a long time.” At this point, he was probably the best piano player on earth.

“Mm.” His lips flickered into a frown. “Immortality always sounds more glamorous than it is. As a human, you think about what you yourself, living in the present moment, would do if you were instantly ‘gifted’ something like immortality. But limitless time destroys the notion of the self, and by extension, your purpose. And that’s where it’s a curse.”

“Sure, yeah,” I said. “But the self is always changing, right? Minutely. Like with every decision and thought, you change. So, I mean, time doesn’t  _ destroy  _ the self. It’s never formed enough to be breakable.” My nails picked at the charcoal stains in my cuticles.

Edward studied me but didn’t contradict. “Okay. And we can sit here and say that’s true, and we know it’s true: the self changes with every action, every thought, every second. But it’s still hard to wrap your head around it, isn’t it? Reality is different. We sit here and talk about how we don’t have a permanent self, but deep down, we’ll do everything to convince ourselves it’s not true. You want to know that you’re on this planet for a designated purpose, don’t you? You want to know that even when your interests and your ideas change, you have a baseline temperament that guides you through life. A set of patterns you can subscribe to. You want to find meaning in those things.”

“I mean, yeah. Of course. That’s what humans do, isn’t it? find patterns? find meaning? But I wouldn't say I feel tethered to any one purpose or destiny,” I said, and crossed my legs as if naked. "Seems kinda like wishful thinking."  


“But what I’m saying is, there are things about yourself that you, as a mortal, would point to and say, ‘Yes, that’s me.’ Right? Your art, for example. Your sense of humor. That scar on your right arm. And you use that sense of self to construct your purpose.”

I tapped my index on the wheel, chewing my lip. “True. Yeah, okay. I see what you’re saying. You have this self that you identify by your thoughts and feelings and your actions, whatever. And then based on that, there’s this ‘future you’ or future goal you have in your head as something you work towards. And that’s your purpose. Right? Kinda?”

“Exactly. But when you’ve lived as long as—” He stole a glance in my direction and looked away. “When you’re immortal, the monumental shifts you endure make it painfully apparent that the universe has no use for you. You look inward, and what do you find? You’ve been living with you all this time, trying to figure things out in the context of the world around you, and you still, after all this time, have no idea who you are, where you’re going. It’s quite unsettling. Frustrating.”

I frowned. “Yeah, I mean, I get having an identity crisis. But whatever you  _ used  _ to be, those facts about you are forever yours. The artistry, the scar. You can always point to those things and say, ‘Yeah, that’s me. Because that  _ was _ me.’ Y’know?”

“What I’m saying is that they are _ not  _ forever yours. Even facts are impermanent. The virtues you’ve espoused, the talent you nurtured, the relationships you fostered — at a certain point, they’re so far out of sight in the rearview mirror, they don’t define you. Nothing defines you, eventually. You define the universe in an attempt to conceptualize your own existence, not the other way around. And once you wrap your head around it, really experience it, it—hurts.”

My lips twisted, unconvinced. “I don’t—sorry, I don't get it. I don’t agree. You make it sound like you don’t have anything to define you. But that’s not true. You’ve still got a past to look back on and a present self. You’re still part of this world, even if you’re not ‘meant’ to be here. I don’t get it.”

“But what does it mean, to be part of this world?” he asked. “What does it mean to have a self that’s not defined by time?”

“Am I the best person to ask?”

“Perhaps not.” Edward’s smile was sad. “Let’s think of it on a more macro scale, hm? In the context of the human race. You grow up in a blip in time, a period of eighty years, we’ll say. As a young person, you wear your time period like a second skin, and the truths and values and history that comes with it. You understand the world around you because you were born into this second skin; this time period has shaped you from birth. 

“As you grow into adulthood, that time period becomes yours to manipulate, shape, and mold with your generation so that successive generations can one day wear your skin. You define the truths, the norms, the values, the aspirations, everything. You can point to scars on that skin and say, ‘Yes, that’s me, my generation. We gave your skin that scar.’ 

“As you enter elderhood, the second skin sheds. Time marches on, away from you. Your family, your friends, the world you knew dies. They’re far behind you now. As a mortal elder, this is your period to reflect on the skin you wore, what it brought you, how it defined you. You cannot wear this skin again, but you can watch how others wear it. You recognize its faded scars. This is the bittersweet fruits of your generation’s labor. You see the product of what you’ve sown, and then you die.”

Edward sighed, frustrated. “But for immortals, we are forced to remain. To watch. Time molds and sheds and molds and sheds to every successive generation, each one of them less and less recognizable to you. Imagine, then, how frustrating it is to be forever trapped outside of this experience. You remember wearing the skin, you remember shaping your world, you remember how it felt to  _ know  _ yourself, and now you have to watch as society becomes this creature you don’t even recognize. Scars fade. Even the foundational truths that guided your own society start crumbling underneath you.

“Let’s refocus back to the self. What I’m trying to say is that, yes, you do have markers to define you: your relationships, your former values and ideas, your experiences, et cetera. You wear your past and present; you always will. But at a certain point, as an immortal, you shed and mold and shed and mold so many times that the ‘you’ becomes this, this  _ landfill  _ of former adjectives and long-gone memories. What do you keep? What do you forget? You lose track of it all. Even with perfect recall. You become something unrecognizable, trapped in a world you no longer understand. 

“That is what I mean when I say that you define the universe and not the other way around. You have to. You’re stuck trying to identify the simplest of things—yourself—without the luxury of the universe, your time period, to guide you. The universe cannot define you. And  _ hard _ , it’s, it’s frightening, it’s—it’s—it’s...been a rough decade. For me. That’s all. Sorry. I’m sorry. Perhaps this is something you won’t und—”

“But I’m confused. Wouldn’t that make you happy?”

“Happy?” It was like he’d never heard the word. 

“Like relative to the tragedy of it all, wouldn’t it eventually make you happy to realize the universe has no purpose for you?”

Edward’s face screwed up in confusion, in pain. “What happiness do you harbor, waiting to die? It’s a tragedy, forever moving forward without purpose. Floating from one thing to the next while time stretches out ad infinitum.”

“How come? You said the universe doesn’t define you, that  _ you _ define _ it  _ to contextualize yourself, or whatever it was you said. So if you define the universe, you define yourself, right? You  _ are  _ the universe. You define you.” I chewed the inside of my lip, trying to pin down my meaning. “What if your era isn’t a second skin? What if it’s more like a shackle? What if, now, you’re finally free?”

“Aha. But am I truly free?” Edward’s lips flicked into a smile, and he stared into the distance, nodding. “Perhaps the difference between your view and mine is the connotation. You as a mortal see immortality as impressive or good, becoming your own world, freeing yourself from the suffering of seemingly directionless movement. But immortality is not that. You’re trapped inside yourself. Forever finite, limited by this life. By this earth. You can never be part of this human experience again; you can never regain the skin you’ve lost. You are forced to move forward. And yet, unlike the humans with whom you walk, you can never reach the beyond.”

I snorted. “Should we be banking on there being a beyond?” That startled him, but I gave a one-shoulder shrug. “And as far as being stuck on earth goes, you’re way more infinite than anyone else here could ever be. You get to experience way more than any of us could ever in a lifetime. You’ve got the strength, the speed, the mind reading. You’ve got the money, the power. You’re not bound to any time period, you’ve got none of that ‘contributing to society’ crap to deal with. The potential!” _ Man, what I wouldn’t do for that. _ “If anything, you’ve just cheat-coded yourself out of the universe.”

“None of it matters, regardless of outlook.”

“Sure, I guess. Unless it matters to you _ , _ ” I said, gripping the wheel with one hand to turn towards him. His lips twisted and brow furrowed, but he mirrored me. “If the universe doesn’t care now, it certainly didn’t care about you back then. Screw the universe. You’re here. You have interests and ideas and whatever. Take that sense of self and whatever time you’ve got left and run with it. Or don’t. Y’know? Be whatever self you wanna be and make the most of your time, even if it’s forever. Aren’t people always saying that you never have enough of it, even when you think you got a lot?”

“I have heard it said.” His lips flicked into a smile at that. “Tell me, have you thought about this a lot?”

“Relative to my age, or yours?” Edward got a kick out of that. “I dunno. Feels like I’ve had a million of these talks with Rene. I’ve read every ‘spiritual roadmap’ and self-help book she’s ever bought. You know, she buys books and then doesn’t read them and that’s, I mean, that should be a crime.” Pause. “My mom had a real rough time in her thirties. I was only trying to help.”

“I can relate.”

“Anyway, for what it’s worth,” I said, fidgeting with the center console, “I think it’s natural to reflect on what you’ve been through to help you define yourself. But if it’s too painful, forget it.” He frowned. “O-or at least, I guess, don’t define yourself that way. Look at your life as it is in this moment: your relationship with your family—a-and me?—makes you part of this world. You’ve got a purpose in the context of  _ their _ lives. And if those relationships have value to you, well, y’know, fuck the rest of it.” He laughed, and I blushed at blurting that last part out. “You should enjoy them while they last, that’s all. Or so I’ve been told.” I looked back up at him shyly, face still burning.

“I wish your advice was as easy to take as it is to listen to.” His lips twitched into a smile. “Though you are a pleasure to listen to, regardless.”

There was this moment, this tiny moment, when his eyes struggled between looking at me and looking at my lips, this tiny moment when I thought he might be leaning into me, and my heart leapt to my throat and I leaned in too, _ I promise we won’t kiss you if you don’t want; I just gotta breathe you in _ .

Our foreheads met and the jolt felt just as good as any kiss; our breathing hitched. Edward caught my face in his right hand and brushed my cheek with his thumb to keep me from kissing him. We both shuddered. And there was no more radio and no more drizzly cold and no more soreness in my thighs, just this, the spicy scent of him drowning me, my heartbeat hammering in my throat, that flash of pleasure that vacuum-sealed us in this truck. One brief moment in forever.

“Speaking of listening,” I whispered to him, placing my hand over his and brushing my cheek against his fingers. “For real, you still can’t hear my thoughts now?” We snickered, soft and nervous, like we were sharing secrets.

“I don’t know. Are you screaming? Or is that me?”

“That might be the both of us.”

“Ah. Good to know. Then I don’t think I can hear anything, but—” Edward’s head snapped up, hand withdrew; he whipped around to look out the back windshield. He muttered something under his breath and threw open the door.

“Charlie’s around the corner,” he said. “And the Blacks. I’m an idiot. I should go.” 

“How come?”

He spoke while he clambered out of the car and into his own. “The Blacks. We’re on good terms, but it’s best if we don’t interact.” 

“Okay,” I said. “Then I guess I’ll see you— Oh! Hold on. I almost forgot.” With the passenger door ajar, I dug around my bag. My hair flew wildly around my face. “Here,” I said, stumbling out of the cab handing him his USB through the Tesla’s window. “It’s my music sampler. For your consideration. I was actually gonna give it to Alice to pass along to you. But since you’re here, y’know.”

“Thank you.” Headlights spilled across the back of the car, splashed over the napes of our necks. “I had a lovely time with you today, Bells. Good afternoon.”

The Tesla’s tires crunched over the drive, and Edward peeled out of the driveway with a whip of a movement. I jogged to the porch just as the headlights of Charlie’s car died. He flung the door open. A few moments later, another set of lights spilled onto the driveway: Jake and Billy’s. 

“Bells!” A familiar, husky voice cut through the rain.

“Jake, hey!”

While Jake helped Billy set up the wheelchair, Charlie met me on the porch, wrapping an arm around me and squeezing. “Did he just say ‘Bells’?”

“Yeah. It’s sorta my name now.”

“Takin it back to the old days, huh. Alright. —Billy, you better’ve brought Harry’s fish fry, lord knows that’s the only reason I invited you.”

But Billy didn’t greet back. Not at first. The man’s face overflowed, cheeks sagging, eyes big, wrinkles running through him like they ran deep through my palm. Those black eyes sparkled like an old man and burned like a young one. Familiar eyes. I’d known them to be a comfortable set of eyes, the eyes I could look up to as a little girl. Here, they were intense, anxious. Scrutinizing my face. 

And I realized, with a sort of horror I kept under hidden under my lashes, that Billy Black’s red-eyed strangers held more truth to him than just one of La Push’s legends.


	13. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he knows

“I...didn’t know there was a game on tonight.”

I stood in the living room, hands awkwardly tucked in the back pockets of my jeans, while Billy and Jacob took to the kitchen table, peeling plastic wrap off bowls of dip and chips. Spice filled the air. 

As Charlie brought out a stack of plates for the table, he said, “Cardinals and Brewers. Aren’t you supposed to be in Seattle with that—who was it you said? Alice?”

They tried to hide it, but I saw the awkward glance that Jake and Billy shared.

“She flaked. I guess something came up. Her brother Edward came to break the bad news.” I struggled to swallow my own awkwardness. “So, Cardinals and, uh, Brewers? What is that, like, football or something?”

Billy and Charlie chuckled. “It’s baseball, Bella.” Billy’s voice scraped low, like Johnny Cash on a 45. His voice resonated in my ears, radiated comfort. The sound of it made me feel younger, a child. Crying. Climbing onto his lap. I remembered the way his calloused hands felt wrapped around me, squeezing tight. Maybe Jacob had hit me or something — who knew.

“Sounds like a sport I’ve heard of.” 

Charlie turned on the flatscreen. He and Billy crowded it and immediately started their own commentary about things that I don’t care enough about to relay. Jacob and I took the couch, and although he watched too, he and I chatted for a while about our interests during commercial breaks: his passion for long-distance running, mostly. After a while, as Jake became engrossed in the game, I ditched the living room and watched from the kitchen table, where I ate.

Maybe I should’ve stayed. During a commercial, Billy rolled into the kitchen. Smiled at me sitting there, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You look like you’re avoiding the party.”

Hair on the back of my neck rose. There was something about Billy that brought back a memory I didn’t understand, couldn’t place. “Well, y'know. Sports.”

“Figures,” he chuckled, wheeling to the fridge. “Want anything?”

I smirked behind his back. “I’ll take a beer.”

“Chief Swan,” Billy shouted to Charlie, “I forget, what’s the legal drinking age again?” 

“Older than Bells is,” Charlie replied dryly. _So is that a no, or…_?

The fridge door slammed and Billy rolled to the table, cracking open the can. Not offering it to me, I might add. “You remember when you were little—god, it had to have been when Jacob was in preschool—and you asked your dad to try his beer?”

Charlie burst out laughing from the living room. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Sure do. I’ll never forget her face.” I didn’t like thinking of my summers as a child at Forks. They were all hazy memories, anyway. “Boy, but come to think of it, _Charles_ , yours was even better. One of those looks you get when you remember, ‘Holy crap, is my kid gonna grow up?’” They both laughed. “I think it was the first time your dad realized you’d be a teenager someday.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been told time goes fast.” _How do you not sound awkward saying that when you’re so young?_

“Yeah, well. For a parent, your kid growing up puts everything into perspective.” Emotions flickered across his face; his smile shrunk. A beat passed while he steadied it. “One minute they’re latched onto your leg like a damn parasite and the next they’re stealing your car keys. Getting into trouble. Drinking. Dating.” Billy and Jake exchanged a look; Jake looked away.

“Trust me,” Charlie called from the living room, “any boy who wants to get within ten feet of my daughter’s gonna have to go through me.”

I groaned. “Dad.”

“What, a father isn’t going to protect his daughter?”

Rene would hate this conversation. I could hear it now: _And who the hell are you to say that a woman can’t protect herself? Maybe Bella just needs some Krav Maga—_

“Well, looks like you aren’t doing your job too well,” Billy laughed. “If that Cullen boy’s lurking around.” My heart dropped. I couldn't look at him. But he looked at me.

“Cullen,” said Charlie, mulling over the name. Pause. “Dr. Cullen’s kids, eh? Nice guy."

My ears flamed. Billy shrugged. “Sure, sure. That’s how it starts, Chief. Might have to give Carisle a call. I will if you won’t.” He winked.

For a moment I thought Charlie looked peeved that Billy would say that, but once Charlie saw my tomato face, he laughed instead. “Alright, _Billium_ , I think we’ve ragged on her enough. Cardinals up by seven; you coming?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” But Billy’s gaze, stern, lingered on me. He leaned over the arm of his chair, creaking the metal. My heart pounded in my chest; could he hear it? With that scratchy timbre of a bass, he said to me in a low voice, “You don’t let that Cullen boy push you around, now. You got that?” 

I swallowed. Shook my head. My mind snagged on the way he said _Cullen_. “No. Never.” 

The rest of the game went off without a hitch. One of the teams won. Cayenne pepper and smiles lingered on our lips. All the while, I was worried that Billy would give me another glance. Why was he looking at me like that? Like he was watching me jump off a cliff? It made me nervous. I couldn't stop fidgeting, looking over my shoulder. Billy knew about Edward. Billy knew they were dangerous. 

Maybe he didn't know I knew. Maybe he was looking for an answer.

After the leftovers were wrapped up and the jackets were thrown on, Jacob and Billy stepped onto the porch and we followed them to say our goodbyes. As Billy rolled onto the ramp, he turned to Charlie and said, “Y’know, you should give Harry a call. Take Jake and Bella out for the day. Someone’s gotta keep the boy on his toes now that his father can’t.” Billy reached up to playfully swipe at Jake’s head; Jake laughed and ducked away.

“Hah! Yeah, I mentioned it to her last week. You remember those traps Jake and her set?”

While Jake and I shared glances and blushed, Billy said, “Oh yeah. Beautiful stuff. It’s those little fingers, that’s how you do it.”

“I dunno,” he said to me,”you didn’t sound too keen, though, huh. Whaddya think? Bells?” He smirked at my name.

Before I could answer, Billy said, “Might be good to get a knife back in her hands. With that Cullen boy skulking around, you never know.” Billy winked at my father and gave me a tight smile. “He gives you any trouble, that boy, you let your old man Billy know, got it?”

Everyone else laughed but I said, heart hammering, “Yeah. Knives. Sounds fun. I’d love to.” 

We lingered around our goodbyes but eventually they came, and the Blacks left. And though the game and the beers and the food and staved off the inquisition, the door slamming shut behind us turned Charlie on a dime.

“So,” he said as I passed him. “The Cullen boy.”

 _Christ on a cracker._ “Dad—”

“Who’s he?”

“—c’mon—”

“I just wanna know! Who is he?”

I stopped at the end of the entryway hall and turned. “Edward. Edward Cullen.”

“Edward.” Charlie pushed the name around his mouth like he was trying to identify the flavor profile of antifreeze. “And what was he doing here?”

“Alice couldn’t come to Seattle, so he went to break the bad news.”

“And Alice couldn’t bother sending over her brother until several hours after you were supposed to leave?”

"Well, no,” I said, blush creeping into my cheeks. Fuck. Didn’t police get trained to detect lies on people? I began to sweat. “It’s not that. She’s having a really hard time emotionally. Honestly, I—I asked her to come with me to cheer her up. Anyway, she didn’t show and I think he felt bad for me. We ended up going hiking instead.”

“And you know this boy, Edwin?”

“Edward. Yeah. We’ve got Bio together.”

“‘Kay.” But Charlie was not as easily swayed by words. “So hiking, huh? With _Edward_ Cullen?”

As much as I tried to fight against my teenager snark, I couldn’t help gesturing with my head to my shoes and saying, “You can check the dirt on my boots, if you want.”

Charlie side-eyed me, running his tongue over his molars from behind his lips. To escape his gaze, I turned to clean up the remaining spills in the kitchen. “Is he your boyfriend, this boy?”

I rubbed the back of my neck; I could tell his eyes burned into it. “Uh, well.” I spun around, blood freezing. “It’s—we’re—just hanging out. Once. As friends. _Friends_ friends.”

“So you’re not—y’know, having—”

“What?!”

“—because I know kids are keeping it, y’know, casual—”

“No! Nuh-uh. Not what this is. It’s—y’know, he’s a little, uh, old-fashioned. Not that—it’s not like that. We’re just, you know, hiking, dinner. Very platonic.”

“Dinner.”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ . “It was—” _oh god, strike me down_ “I swear, this is all circumstantial. We ran into him—”

“When did you go to dinner?”

At this point, I was blushing so hard I thought I might start sweating blood. “I—we—me ‘n’ Angela ‘n’ Jess—we ran into him out in Port Angeles.”

“And you went out with him to dinner.”

“Yeah. Well. I invited him. So. Y’know, really not a big deal.”

“Then what?”

“What?”

“After dinner, what’d you do?” He drilled down. “Who drove you home, after?” Silence. “Isabella Marie.”

“Well, Edward did,” I replied. “But it wasn’t like—”

“So you went out to Port Angeles with Angela and Jess, and then you had a date with Edward Cullen.”

“Not a date, no, not a date, just, it’s— Nothing happened. We had dinner and he drove me home.”

Charlie’s lips pursed into a thin line; he exhaled through his nose. Here came the storm: “Look. If you’re, y’know, _socializing_ , it, I mean, I don’t have a problem with that. I’m not, y’know, a strict dad.” _Yeah, okay, Charlie._ “But you can’t lie to me about what you’re doing. Okay? That’s not appropriate.”

My face flushed deep crimson. “ _Lie_? Ch—Dad, I’m not lying. We’re not—like that. Every time we’ve hung out it’s just been, like, random happenstances. That’s it.”

Charlie raised his hands in defense. “Okay. Alright. If you say it’s not a lie, I believe you.” A beat of silence passed between us. “Jus’, don’t feel like you have to lie to me. Okay? If you’re doing, y’know, _that_. It’s—fine. Just, make sure you’ve, uh—talked to your mother.” His face burned bright pink. “About. Y’know. Preventative. Care.”

Oh god. This is horrifying. Make it stop. “Yep. Gotcha. Thanks.”

“That’s all I’m saying. —And don’t lie.”

“Copy that.”

We baked in the silence of this painfully awkward conversation. I turned away to scrub the kitchen counters with a force never before seen by the hands of man. Behind me, Charlie said, “So! Then. When’s he coming over to meet me?”

“Who?”

“Hah hah. I’m serious. It’s my job to protect you.”

“No, that’s _my_ job,” I said. _It’s always been my job, Charlie._ “Keeping me from life experience isn’t going to make me a better person.”

“A father needs to protect his daughter.”

“A parent needs to protect their child,” I corrected. “I get that. But I’m okay. He’s a good person. Honest.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re living under this roof; I have a right as a parent to know the character of the boy—”

“Guy.”

“—who’s going to be where my daughter is. —No, I don’t wanna hear it, okay? I have more life experience to judge these things; you know that. I know you do.”

“Fair,” I mumbled. “Fine. You got me there. But don’t be weird about it, okay? —See, no, that look right there, you’re being weird about it. Girls date. And have guy friends. Which is what this is. Besides, I mean, Mom dated you when she was in high school.”

Charlie groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Well look, we’re not dating, so it’s already ten times better, right? But I’m just saying, y’know, you’re older and wiser _because_ you had that experience. It’s just that in your case, she came back to date you again and life got fucked up.”

“Language.”

“Right, my bad.” I sighed at his glare. “I’ll bring him over. Maybe tomorrow. Or something. Not that he’s my boyfriend. Because he’s not.” With nothing left to clean, I started up the steps.

“Bells.”

Well, fuck. Now all of a sudden I was frozen between the fourth and fifth step, heart pounding, on edge for his next words.

“Before your next date, he needs to come to meet me.”

Holy shit. Rene wasn’t joking about the “traditional household” thing. What was the big deal about him meeting Edward? Why did it matter?

I never turned around. “Roger.”

Sometimes Rene would complain about me having “my blinders on.” Innocence shielded me from truly understanding some feelings and experiences she had described to me. Like why she reconnected with her toxic parents, my Nona and Opa. What it felt like to be in love with someone and still have to let them go. How the fragility of the human body reminds you more and more of your mortality as you age. Maybe I didn’t understand. But I empathized — and, in some way, isn’t that like extrapolating the experience in your own mind?

At any rate, since I didn’t have Charlie’s ‘experience,’ I couldn’t very well say, “Well, Edward is a good person and I know because I know it.” So, fine. He wins. For now.

I trudged to my room. Showered. Shaved. Hot water rolled down my hair, down my back. The scent of lavender body wash filled the air, fogged the mirrors. Water unwound the knots in my back from my and Charlie’s conversation. After that, I thought about—who else?—Edward. Was I blushing, or was it the heat of the water?

Now, listen. I’ve heard enough of Rene’s post-breakup rants to know that a man taking up this much real-estate in your head is Not Okay. 

But I’ve also seen enough of her behavior over the years to know that reality doesn’t always reflect truth. 

Here was something I couldn’t deny: there was something in the way Edward gave color to Forks. What was once a gray, damp place in my mind was now vibrant green. Not that Forks made me any less anxious, but he made it — bearable. He made the shadow fall into the spaces where it belonged: the corners. As accents. As something beautiful.

He gave color to my drawing that night, too. Another forest, another lake, but this time dripping with a vibrancy that reminded me how lucky I’d been to get out, to see Forks again under this new light. To see how beautiful it really was.

I hated giving in to the intrigue and desire that wracked me. But maybe it was a good thing. Maybe I needed to reassess my opinions. Maybe I needed to relax. Or, at least, relax without breaking the law. 

Maybe now that I was in a stable environment, I could get to know people the way I’ve always wanted to know them: up close and personal.


	14. Chapter 12, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she apologizes

Nothing and everything in particular. Hands roaming, cold kisses, tension. Heart beating. Heat. Him. Him, everywhere, always. And me.

_“Bells. It’s me.”_

Biting. Sucking.

“ _Hey.”_

Cinnamonclovescold

_TAPTAPTAP_

I jolted awake in a gasp, tugging the blankets of my bed and knocking my sketchbook off the bed _shit—_

“Can we talk?”

I recognized the voice, distorted from speaking through a window pane. Tweeting, lilting, soft. My breathing hitched; I stumbled out of the bed, throwing the sketchbook back onto the bed, rubbing my eyes— _shit, did I get paint on me?_

When I threw the curtains open and lifted the window, Alice hung there, her head cocked just above the sill, as if casually leaning over a fence. 

I rubbed my eyes, glancing at the angry red numbers of the alarm clock on the nightstand. 11:37PM. I fell asleep? I was just painting….

“Uh—” I glanced back over my shoulder, towards the closed door, back to her. Charlie’s HGTV still blasted downstairs. “Alice. Hi.”

“Hey. Hi. Hope I’m not bugging you,” she said, looking distant. “Just wanted to stop by. I don’t have your phone number. I should probably get that, by the way. —Oh, nevermind. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” 

"Oh. Sorry, I was talking to Edward." Alice gestured behind her; my eyes widened. Edward sat on the branch of the maple tree that towered over the house.

_Oh._

Oh, thank god he can’t read my mind. The horror settled in like quicksand. _Was I just dreaming about—_?

“Yeah, I made him come so you wouldn’t feel as awkward," Alice continued, both unaware of my inner monologue. "I thought it might be good to have a familiar face.”

Maybe too familiar. Maybe when we locked eyes and the rest of the world fell apart around us, he could tell. I thought about him. A lot. “Hi, Edward.” I barely had a voice. _He can’t read your thoughts, don’t be paranoid—_

“You’re startled. Damn. You know, I couldn’t decide if you’d be startled or happy. I should’ve asked Edward to come to your window. I think that would’ve improved my odds.” She rolled her eyes.

Maybe she was right. “No problem. Uh, you wanna come in?”

Alice turned to Edward, holding up a hand to his face as he began to move. “Excuse me?” A moment of silence passed between them. “You’ll have your time. Go pick up Emmett from school.” He smirked. “Okay?”

School? On a Sunday? Another plot to get suspended?

“Bells?” he said. “Are you okay if I leave you alone with Alice?”

The gesture reminded me of Ang in Port Angeles. “Yeah. That’s cool. Thank you.”

Like the man in the alley he zipped out of sight, faster than my eyes could keep track. The branch he had been sitting on bobbed.

“So, first off.” Alice turned around and stretched out of the window, untangling something from a mess of branches above her, and threw a Bloomingdale’s box on my bedspread. “The dress.”

My fingers brushed over the cold, glossy cover. “Oh. Wow. You didn’t have to.” Once I flipped the top off the box and peeked at the royal blue fabric, my awkwardness dissolved into a grin. “Wow. Thank you. —Wow, the _neckline_ — It's awesome. Thanks. How much?”

At that, Alice looked bewildered. “How much? I don’t know. I didn’t check.”

“Uh, then how much do I owe you?”

“Owe me?” Now she laughed. And I guess that was supposed to be my answer. “No, it’s the least I can do after what happened yesterday.”

“Seriously, Alice, I can’t, you should—”

Alice dropped to her knees in front of me on the bed. “Nope, no, no way, I know what you’re going to say and don’t you dare say it Isabella Marie. I'll eat the receipt, I swear.”

“You didn't know what I was gonna say," I grumbled, but she arched a brow.

“Let me tailor it for you, and that’ll be payment enough. —No, really, I’m serious. Bells, don’t give me that look—"

"You're going to _tailor_ it?"

"—it’s been _so_ long since I’ve done off-the-rack customs and it would be _so_ fun, please?"

"I dunno, that's really generous, Alice."

"Be a good sport."

I sighed, my eyes trailing down. "Okay," I said in a small voice. "Sure." And in the future, maybe I could—

 _"Hey_ ! Don’t you even _think_ about stuffing that pile of cash in my purse when I’m not looking. I’m onto you.”

So Alice can't get my future right, but she can foil my master plans in less than two seconds. Great.

As soon as I sighed, Alice’s eyes twinkled with a vision of my pending acceptance; she shot to her feet and balled her hands into fists, hissing, “Yes!” so as not to alert Charlie. And she continued: “Honestly, Bells, that blue against your skin? Divine. But we’re going to need to let it out around the hips and bring it in at the waistline. The cut could use a little work but it’s really not as terrible as all that, you’ll see—” 

Alice twirled around in my room like someone else was dancing with her, chattering more to herself than me about modifications and embroidery and a bunch of other stuff that prompted me to break up her plans with, “Yeah, totally. Whatever you want to do it, I’m—I’m grateful. Thank you, Alice.”

“Well.” Alice paused; my words broke her celebration. “No. Please. It’s not—for me.” She huffed. Her face fell. “It’s sort’ve—it's supposed to be an apology, actually. Like a dressed-up apology, no pun intended. For not going with you to Seattle yesterday, like we planned—I wanted to. Sorry. Um. I know our friendship hasn’t exactly started off on the right foot.” Alice’s brows crinkled. I argued but she ignored me with a sheepish smile, pirouetting across the floor in a singular fluid movement, slipping into the rocking chair in the corner, crossing one leg over the other. Once Alice’s nose wrinkled from sniffing the vicinity of my closet, I shut up. My face burned; I hadn’t done laundry in over a week now. “I should’ve taken a moment to—to check in with you. With everyone.”

“No, I know. I get it. It’s cool.”

“It’s not ‘cool.’ It was rude.”

I blushed. “Yeah. I mean, I had a real nice time with Edward. But. Yeah, it was rude.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “You’ll be happy to know Edward chastised me for my behavior just as soon as I walked through the door. I just got back a few hours ago.” A humorless chuckle escaped her, her fingers swept slow across her brow and down. “I didn’t even—I didn’t realize. The time. I’m so sorry. Sometimes I sort’ve lose track of the present—”

“Yeah. Edward told me.”

Alice looked disgruntled at that, but continued. “Well I’m glad to hear you and him ended up having a good time. But I’ll admit I’m— a little ashamed. Actually. Not just for how I treated you, but for him, too. Asking him for all this, covering my mistakes. I’ve had to rely a lot more on him recently, since—” her eyes followed the trail of clutter in my room. “Well, since Jasper has been having trouble. Integrating. And on top of that, I—” Her lips pursed. Alice squinched her eyes shut, flat palms pressing into both sides of her head. 

Edward had mentioned it, and I had noticed it before: Jasper had been missing from school. Everyone, including Edward, said that he dropped out.

“Oh.” I fumbled with a response. “You mean, like, integrating with humans?” Alice nodded. “Is he, uh—is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It will be. It’s just—stressful. Lately. It’s taking a toll. On the—on everyone. And I don’t know how to—I don’t know how to reach the future. You know? _That_ future. The good one.” The weight of Alice’s sigh sunk the entire room. 

“It’ll work out regardless,” I told her, though it sounded dumb and hollow. Here I was telling a psychic what was gonna happen.

“You’re right," she told me. Then: "I just have to figure it out. That’s all. But that’s not why I’m here.” Her eyes popped open. “Well. It’s kinda why I’m here. The good future. Your good future, specifically.”

I sat taller. “I like a good future.”

“That’s great,” she said with a sigh of relief. “I’d love to have someone listen to the good future for once. I was hoping you’d say that." She beamed. "That’s why I came here, actually. I wanted to explain. In my own words. About what’s going on.”

“I’d really appreciate that,” I told her, tucking the dress back into the box and setting it on the nightstand. I curled up pretzel leg–style on the bedspread. My fingers fiddled with the wrinkles in the fabric while she spoke.

“Edward mentioned that night in Port Angeles about how you felt unsafe and I just. I’ve been trying to figure it out, how to—fix it. And your good future starts with my apology. Because I don’t want you to think that this is, you know, how I would act. As a friend. If. If I was your friend.” Alice’s lips twisted, pursed. “So I’m sorry. I know you don’t really understand what’s happening.”

“Bit of an understatement,” I said with a humorless chuckle.

“I’m gonna make it okay,” she assured me, drawn into the empty air by a fleeting vision. Her fingers fluttered. “I want to tell you something about my life. And hopefully that’ll help you make sense of some things. Edward is going to tell you that I have to ‘put in the work’ for us to be friends. And friends tell friends stuff.” A glint lit her eyes. “So when he says that, you make sure to defend my honor. And that'll be payment for the tailoring.” She winked.

I laughed, shoulders relaxing. “Okay. Deal.” 

“I’ll keep it brief; it seems like you react badly to every speech I make that’s over eight minutes? So, quick rundown, stop me for details: There's a powerful group old fae called the Volturi who noticed my potential as a human and decided that I might be useful to them as a vampiristic fae. So they hired a tracker to come find me. James. And so he found me. Obviously.”

 _The Volturi._ Edward had mentioned them yesterday. Silence. She waited for me to speak. “Damn, that sucks,” I blurted out, blushing with embarrassment at not being able to offer something more comforting. “I’m really sorry.” I blushed harder.

If anything, my reaction amused her, if only for a moment. “It was a long time ago,” Alice murmured. “I don’t remember much of my human life.” Her fingers traced the scratches in the arm of the chair. “Anyway. The leaders—the Volturi—were right. I ended up with an ability to predict the future.”

“Oh...kay.” I frowned. “So, hang on, how come the Volturi wanted you changed? I was under the impression that they didn’t want humans knowing about, uh—this. At all.”

“They don’t,” said Alice. “And for good reason. But every authority figure, whether just or unjust in the eyes of the perceiver, bends the rules. Always. No exceptions. The Volturi may be ‘the law,’ but I was good for them; therefore, they could bend the rules. So, they bent the rules.” Alice paused; her tongue did that thing where it rounded the edge of her sharp canine. “And as a newborn, you know, I was young, I was reckless, I was impressionable, emotional. The Volturi offered me an opportunity to learn: an apprenticeship, of sorts. Though I didn’t stay for too long before I started getting visions of Jas. And the Cullens. Vampires who offered me family and empathy instead of power and law.” Whatever scene was playing out before her eyes, it was a good one; she smiled, dreamy.

“Uh—I don’t think I get where this is going.”

“I’m getting sidetracked. Memories.” Her eyes clouded over again; she bit her lip. I waited several moments for her to shake the vision off her shoulders. Her sharp nails _tap tap tapped_. “James kidnapped me, changed me, took me to the Volturi. And my point with all of that is that when you’re turned, there’s a certain connection that exists between you and whoever changed you, whoever’s there during—it. For many of us, it’s a negative experience that can be...pretty haunting.

“This vampire—the tracker, James—before he became contracted to the Volturi to hunt me, he lived in the area. He slaughtered countless other fae to lay claim to what’s now the Olympia territory, the land we occupy. I guess he’s getting nostalgic _,_ ” she said, muttering the last part and drumming her nails on the arm. “He’s pushing to reclaim what he considers ‘his’ land. So he’s been in our vicinity.”

“And you’ve been trying to keep him out,” I said.

“Right. His presence is very—stressful. I’m starting to see a lot more of the future, most of it involving him. And that night in Port Angeles, when he came for you—”

“That was _him_?” I leaned back, drifting through the memory of that first night. With Edward. _That was James?_

Alice’s lips pursed into a thin line. “I assumed then that that was why I kept getting visions of you. I’ve been getting a lot of visions of him, and when you came into the picture, I—I don’t know. He must have seen you in passing weeks ago, decided to latch on, and it triggered something in me. Bells, if something is going to happen to you by _his_ hand, I—”Alice’s throat tightened and she looked away, drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. Staring at nothing and unable to talk with visions flashing in her eyes. "How could I let that happen?" she said to no one in particular.

She huffed, visibly annoyed. More tapping of sharp nails. “Now, how the heck you’re so hard to read, I don’t know. Why I keep seeing you even when he’s not there—who can say. But your safety is contingent upon getting me to read you right. And in the meantime, _bien sûr,_ you need protection.” She frowned, eyes flashing. More visions. But seeing her sitting erect in the chair, gripping the arms, one leg crossed over the other, she looked more akin to a queen to a quack. Edward had been right, I realized: Alice _was_ cocky. Understandably so. “Here's the deal. I want to ask Carlisle for help,” she told me. "I want to introduce you to him."

 _Didn’t Charlie say—_ “The doctor,” I butted in. “Right? He’s Dr. Cullen?”

Her smile shined. “Carlisle, our patriarch, is centuries older than all of us. His control is impeccable— Did Edward tell you he’s never tasted human blood?—He works as a doctor. Sort’ve his way of giving back. He even treated Edward and Esme as humans.”

“Yeah, he told me.” _Esme too, huh?_

“Carlisle has also spent time with the Volturi. He’s extremely knowledgeable about both humans and vampires. If anyone could figure out why this is happening, how we can keep you safe, it’d be him. And in the meantime, if I can get the coven to agree to place you formally under our protection, we can send a message to James that we won't be tolerating his behavior.” Alice's lips twisted. "We're trying to—be diplomatic with him. Speak softly and carry a big stick."

“So you've talked to him, Carlisle?”

“I’ve said nothing yet. But I can arrange to have our coven take it to a vote this week. Depending.”

“Depending on….”

The Cullens don’t blink a lot. So when one stares at you with the golden intensity of a thousand suns, it tends to be impossible to look at them for more than a few moments at a time. I wasn’t looking at her when she said, “See, if _you_ say you want protection, the chances that the coven will oblige are higher. Significantly.” 

That shook me. “Do I really need protection? Is it that bad?” The thought of having the Cullens drop what they’re doing and protect me—how could I ask them to do something like that? How could I just sit around and ask the Cullens for a favor without giving something in return? When it was clear I could be a liability?

“James will do everything in his power to break our alliance so he can move back in, and the Volturi—” Alice rolled her eyes. “Our covens don’t see eye-to-eye on certain issues. So I don’t anticipate them being sympathetic to our cause." A movement in the window caught my eye. There was Edward at the outside of the sill, head resting on a hand propped up by his elbow. Looking at me. I wished I could read his mind. She talked like my attention hadn't shifted. "Really, this is just a contingency plan. I don't see it coming to that; there are much stronger futures out there."

“Oh. Uh. Well, I dunno.”

"You don't have to do anything at all," said Edward, casting a glance at Alice. "It's your choice and no one else's. Make the right one for you."

"Our protection is our first priority," Alice lilted.

"And your protection is yours," Edward finished, arching a brow at me.

"Thanks, I'm—I'll think about it," I said, spilling my attention between the two of them.

“Alice, Emmett is getting restless out here,” said Edward.

Alice's gaze didn't linger from me. "The good future is out there. I think you should take my advice."

“‘Kay. Yeah,” I said to her, trying to fight a blush crawling up my cheeks. “I’m—I think I’m gonna think about it. But I just, y’know—” How involved should I be, here? And if I’m going to be meeting with a centuries-old vampire, how do I not sound like an idiot? And what am I supposed to say when I see him: _make your family help me for nothing?_ “I’ll let you know.” At the very least, I needed to make sure I could talk to him without sweating profusely.

“That’s fair,” Alice said, nodding, but she was staring into the middle distance.

Shy, I mumbled, “Can I ask what you’re seeing?”

Alice and Edward exchanged looks. “The future.”

Edward’s attention snapped to something outside of the window, below him. “She’s on her way, stop yelling at me,” Edward hissed. “No, don’t come up. I’ll give it to her.”

But Emmett’s square head head popped into the window, perfect even with flour smeared across his ashy forehead and left eyebrow. So now there were three vampires here: one cross-legged in the rocking chair and two hanging out of the window. My life was very quickly turning into a farce. 

“Like hell you’re gonna give it to her,” he said to his brother, grinning at Edward’s glare. Emmett turned to me. “Sup, new girl! Here. Pie.” Emmett’s flour-dusted arm flashed inside the room, pie in hand, and dropped it from the sill. It landed face-up on the floor with a _smack_. I blinked at it. “I had to break into the kitchen at school to make it so Rose doesn’t find out. —Y’all better not tell Rose.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you. Fingers crossed you get suspended for that one,” I said, and they all laughed. I just made a room of vampires _laugh_ . _What is my life?_ “Uh, there aren’t any lobsters in this, right?”

Emmett looked about ready to howl a laughter before Alice glared and put a finger to his lips. Emmett settled on a toothy grin and whispered, “Strawberry-rhubarb,” with a wink and the shoot of a finger-gun. “Ya like strawberry-rhubarb, huh?”

“Sure I do, yeah. My favorite,” I said with a widening smile. “How’d you know?”

“As the old saying goes, ‘Never bet against Alice.’” In the moment that he closed his eyes to snicker, I caught Alice and Edward exchanging an uneasy glance.

Emmet’s laughter, contagious, caught on to me. “Thanks, Emmett. Good to meet you.”

His eyes shot to his sister. “C’mon short stuff, y’almost done or what? Early vamp gets the bear. And Eddie here—”

Edward pushed his brother off the sill before he could finish his sentence, saying a frosty murmur, “You can keep that last part to yourself.” I bolted towards the sill until I could hear a belly-laugh coming from the ground outside, followed by Edward’s sharp _shush_. Falling out of a second-story window did nothing to hurt vampires, I guess.

“I think that’s my cue,” murmured Alice, rising as gracefully from the chair as she did getting into it. She reminded me of music in motion, twirling and stepping and gliding across the floor.

But she planted her hands at the foot of the bed, inches from my face. The beauty of her large sparkling eyes took my breath away; they reflected my unsure expression.

“I want you to know that if you have any questions,” she murmured, “or concerns, or anything you want to talk about in general, or if you want that dress tailored—” she batted her eyelashes “I’m here for you. Always. Okay?”

And I don’t know how I found the oxygen to say, “Of course. Thank you. You too,” but I did, and she broke into a smile.

“Talk to you soon, Bells,” she said. And she slipped out of the window like she was diving into an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

Which left Edward and I alone. 

With not enough oxygen for the both of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'know, i had this whole book written but i'm gonna take a detour & spice it up a lil bit just for kicks. we deserve good content.  
> smeyer's pacing makes it so that a near-canon rewrite is still a lil laggy so let's patch that up right quick and make it a better book, huh?  
> you know, before we go off the rails on this canon shit  
> (y'all the next book is gonna be wild lmao)  
> i'll post part 2 today or tomorrow or tuesday, who knows, it'll be in the next 3 days tho
> 
> thanks!


	15. Chapter 12, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they get closer

I couldn’t breathe as long as we stared at each other. But I couldn’t look away.

So we looked at each other in silence.

“My family can be a little intense,” he murmured finally. 

“Wow.” I expelled all the air in my lungs. “You’re not kidding.” _Another understatement._ “And you’re supposed to be the buffer, right?” I uttered a nervous laugh that he reciprocated. 

“Supposed to be,” he echoed. Beat. “I hope you had a good day today.”

“I did, thanks. You too.” A streak of silence passed us. “I uh—was listening to _Mingus Ah Um_ earlier. When I was painting.” _Before I fell asleep, that is._

A grin stole across his face. “And?”

 _A_ _nd I want you now more than ever? I like you even more than yesterday?_ I couldn’t help a smile. “And what? I’m sure you already know I love it.”

“Yes, but I like hearing it from your lips,” he said, looking at mine, away. My breathing hitched.

“Fine. I love it. You were right about ‘Self-Portrait in Three Colors.’ Those chords? amazing. And I was just thinking—” _right before I fell asleep?_ I flushed. “—that ‘Goodbye Pork Pie Hat’ kinda reminds me of ‘Flamenco Sketches.’”

“Roots in New Orleans jazz mixed with a little progressive chamber music. Mm. Yeah. Good ear.” 

“And you’re gonna listen to _Bridge Over Troubled Water_ , right?” I flashed my most convincing smile and he chuckled, reassuring me that he would. A breeze rolled through the open windows; I shuddered. He noticed. “You’re uh, you’re welcome to come in, if you wanna.”

“Oh.” Edward hesitated. Our conversation fell to silence. We stared. “Should I?” he said. My heart sped up.

“I don’t if I can answer that question for you,” I said with a nervous chuckle. And swallowed back my own shyness. “But I want you to come in, if that makes a difference.”

If everything he told me was true, then he could hear the way my heartbeast rattled against my shattering chest. He could hear the way I struggled to moderate my breathing to keep it calm. 

Maybe that’s why he closed his eyes and took in one last breath of fresh air before he entered.

He slinked into the room in a singular fluid movement that my eye struggled to catch. He sat on the floor of my bedroom beyond the foot of the bed, back to the wall, arms draped over his knees. With his thick, messy hair swept wild across his head, and the way he pointed his chin towards the ceiling like he was trying to keep himself above water, honestly, he looked like one of those casual black-and-white Calvin Klein ads. 

“You okay?” I murmured. I crept towards the pie sitting two feet away, scooping it up into my hands while I waited for his answer. 

Then his eyes flashed to mine. When he opened his mouth to speak, his irises darkened. “This room is—intoxicating. Even with the other scents, it’s—incredible. Indescribable. How do you cope with smelling this good?” 

I set the pie on the nightstand. “Uh, I take it one day at a time, I guess.” He got a kick out of that. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Mm?”

“Your eyes are darker.”

He froze, eyes popping open. “Oh. W-well, I’m sure they’ll lighten up. It’s just — your— It’s just you. They’ll lighten up.”

“Is it too much?”

“No. No, not at all.”

I blushed. “What’s—what’s it like? The smell?”

“It’s,” he breathed again, closing his eyes. And he burst into a chuckle. “God Almighty, I’ve never been in another room in all my life that’s smelled so good. Beyond wonderful. Beyond any description I can even come up with. Flowers. Freesia. Wind. Warm molasses. Summer. You. Me. Blood, and— It’s even better mixed with, _oh—_ Am I talking?”

“You’re talking.”

He swallowed. “Ah. Right,” he hummed in a sigh. “Thanks.” His eyes flickered open and roamed around the room, trailed up my bookcase that sat on the opposite wall, jammed mostly with Charlie’s hunting manuals, guides, and maps. Dusty knickknacks from my childhood littered the empty spaces. Edward’s eyes fell upon the scant CD collection in the center of the chaos. “Hm.”

“I didn’t take much with me when I left,” I explained.

“You have more?”

“Twenty CDs isn’t exactly a lot of CDs.” Pause. “But, actually, no. This is it.”

“Selective.”

“Well, it’s sorta my greatest hits collection. We moved a lot, me n’ Rene. CDs take up a lot of space.”

“Don’t I know it.” Pause. “Guns N Roses. Red Hot Chili Peppers. Interesting. —Oh, Isabella. Are you blushing?”

“No,” I said in a small voice, and he grinned when I flushed a deeper shade of red. “I um, kinda have a thing for voices, if that makes sense. I like the different qualities of them, how they look and feel. Unique voices just jump off the track, you know? That’s sorta what I was painting earlier.”

“Which is your favorite? The CDs.”

I bit my lip to stop a smile, eyes skimming through the titles. What would I tell him? _Kind of Blue,_ the legendary jazz album that I knew would win his approval? _The Rose That Grew From Concrete,_ the gorgeous poetry of a cultural icon from an era Edward didn’t know? Or the, in his words, “70’s garbage” _Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,_ the only album I could bang out on piano, given enough drinks? 

His eyes glittered. “Unedit.”

“It’s a trick question,” I told him.

“Oh.” Apparently it wasn’t the answer he expected. “Is it? Hm. Okay. Hang on, let me guess. —It’s the mixtape, isn’t it? The yellow jewel case there at the end?”

“No,” I laughed. “Mixtapes are cheating.”

“Are not.”

“Besides, that’s actually a demo. —Ooh, but y’know, I do have their band tee, too, so maybe yellow jewel case _is_ my favorite. It’s my sleep shirt. Wait a sec.” When I got up to pop open the dresser drawer beside him, Edward scrambled out of the way, sitting at the foot of the bed, reaching down to untie the laces of his shoes. I looked through every drawer—nothing. —No, I’d worn it yesterday—two nights ago?

“And who are they?”

“Total nobodies,” I said, throwing open the closet doors and rummaging around. “That’s not the name of the band or anything, they just really aren’t good.” Edward laughed, tossing his shoes near the window. Still nothing. Frowned.

“Why have the demo, then?”

With my eyes I combed the bedroom floor thinking I accidentally didn’t put it away, under the bed thinking—I don’t know, that I threw it under the bed? —No, not there. Gotta be in the hamper. “It was some underground show at this bar we went to in Phoenix. Georgi had a fake ID but I didn’t, so she had to sneak me in through the bathroom window.”

“You came in through the bathroom window?”

“Thanks for the 60s trash reference, Paul,” I mumbled under my breath, side-eyeing Edward’s cocky grin. “Anyway, I snuck in because I wasn’t about to drop that kinda money for a fake. And the only reason I was there in the first place was cuz she wanted to sleep with the bass player.” But I’ll be honest: the beers on her dime didn’t hurt. “It was a great night. Georgi told the band she ‘knew some people’ in the recording industry, so they gave her their demo to pass along.”

“Did she really know people?”

“Doubt it. Who knows. Seems like she always knew someone, somewhere, doing something. And I gotta hand it to her: she did know a lot of people. But she also lied a lot. So. Anyway, I borrowed it and never gave it back. They’re punk. They’re trash. But it’s awesome.” When I dug through the top layer of the hamper, I remembered Alice wrinkling her nose from the rocking chair and freezing. _Oh, hell no._ If she thought it was gross, I couldn’t possibly dig up my dirty laundry in front of Edward.

“You sound like you had quite the time in Phoenix.” 

I shrunk from his gaze, stuffing the dirty laundry in my hands back into the basket. “Yeah, I guess so.” He didn’t even know the half of it. “Anyway, the shirt must be in the laundry or something,” I said, shifting my weight. “I dunno. My memory’s been pretty shot lately.”

I couldn’t escape his gaze. “Nightmares?”

“They’re getting better,” I lied.

“That doesn’t sound convincing.” 

_Well, I was just sleeping before you got here…_ I blushed, but I tried to mask it by arching my brow at him. “And since when did you become an expert in nonverbal communication?”

Edward’s cidery eyes glittered. “I think I’m picking up on this ‘reading people’ thing you’re always going on about.”

“Or maybe you really can read my mind.” Fingers crossed _that_ wasn’t true.

“Har har.” He smirked. “If we weren’t close enough yesterday, we certainly aren’t now.”

Our conversation stopped. Silence fizzed with tension. I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand, remembering how it felt. Touching. “Well. There’s always hope.” We stared at each other. 

More silence; it left me breathless. Honestly, it was kind’ve a tricky situation. I get it. The guy obviously had reservations. Valid reservations. Edward’s uncertainty about his own life extended to us, naturally. Our relationship. 

But while time stretched infinitely into forever for Edward, _my_ life cut off at a sharp inch. Relative to him, anyway. 

So that being said, why the hell wouldn’t I shoot my shot while I got it? Why wouldn’t I approach him? He had all the time in the world to get closer. I didn’t.

“Yes,” he said. “About that.”

And I guess it must’ve just dawned on me: Holy hell. Edward Cullen was in my _bedroom_ . He was in my room sitting on my _bed_. And not only that, here I stood, inches away in front of him. Ready.

Edward flipped his hands to face palm-up. I hopped from my place on the floor onto the bed, heart hammering, sitting face-to-face with him. On my _bed_. Oh lord.

I couldn’t help sneaking my hands into the crevices of his palms, his wrists, his arms. Serotonin short-circuited my brain. 

The way his fingers grazed up the undersides of my forearms, trailed back down the sides, sent tingles shooting up my body straight to my head, clouding everything, blurring the world. And in the hum of the energy, his soft-spoken syllables melted into a whispery song, like a distant scrap of some tune I had heard years ago. 

It wasn’t until _“Bells”_ spilled from his lips that an electric jolt shot down to my toes and snapped me back to him grinning at me.

“Huh?”

His hands had stilled; fingers ghosted my wrists. Edward grinned. “Did you hear a word of what I said?” he teased.

“Uh—” _Please wait while I try to remember my native language —_ “Um. No. Sorry. What?”

“I said, In a perfect world— Well, I suppose, in a truly perfect world, I would be dead. But in an imperfectly perfect world—” Pause. He pulled away from my grasp. “Come to think of it, it’s probably best you tuned me out.”

“Aw, dammit, no! C’mon. Tell me. Please. Unedit.”

He groaned, staring at my hands, left alone in the scant space that still existed between us. “It is—easy to forget myself, with you,” Edward said, and his eyes darted from my lips. As soon as his hand came to rest on my knee, it fluttered away. “I’d like nothing more than to live in a parallel universe where we’re both alive and don’t face so many—problematic obstacles. But that said, our reality here is different than what we would—what _I_ would—like it to be. In reality, I have limits. Very little margin for error. And this, you know, is problematic at a fundamental level.”

In this close proximity, I could speak in a murmur and be heard. “Are you saying we can’t be friends?” I tease with a low laugh. 

When his eyes trailed from mine, to my lips, he came to press my forehead to mine and stopped my smile dead in its tracks; my brain turned to scrambled eggs. I inhaled, ragged. Here we were again. Now all I could smell was the spice on his breath, the chill of his skin, the stillness of the air around us. 

“Hm. _That_ is a trick question.”

“Is not.”

“Is so.”

“How come?”

“Because in an imperfectly perfect world—” His throat sounded dry. His hand traced the outline of mine. “In any other world, I wouldn’t want to be friends with you.”

Since my brain hadn’t been receiving oxygen for the last couple minutes, I couldn’t tell whether I simply jumped out of my skin or if I shifted myself even closer to his cold body on purpose. I also couldn’t help myself from saying, “Hold up. Unedit. Are you saying all this because you want to set me straight?” No response. “Or because you want—” My eyes fluttered open to his. I blushed.

“You know by now that I _should_ set you straight,” he murmured, watching as our fingers lazily laced in, laced out, reveling in the oxytocin static we produced. “You know that I’ve tried—feebly, of course, but I have tried. At this point, I’m not sure what I can say to keep you away. Or if I’d want to say anything at all. But I’m happy to try again, if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. I’ve heard your case,” I told him. “So, then. About that second question...?”

“I can’t answer what you didn’t ask.”

“Fine.” _Damn him._ I breathed in, heart hammering the air out of my lungs. “In a perfectly perfect world, no ‘trick question’ answer, honest: would you—kiss me? Right now? If I...asked you? Hypothetically?”

His hand froze interlaced with mine. “In a perfectly perfect world?” My breath stole away in a shudder that twisted up my spine when Edward brushed my chin to the side with his thumb, placed his lips at the base of my neck. Blood simmered underneath my skin. And he whispered while he lingered there, “I, I don’t know if — if that’s really realistic.” As his nose grazed up my neck, breathing deep at my thrumming pulse point. Brought to you in part by a hammering heart clocking in at a million beats per minute. “For us.” His cool breath splayed across my neck; I shivered.

“Not what I asked.”

As he planted a kiss behind my jaw, deep in the recesses of my rational brain, the lightbulb lit, the _ding-dong_ bonged. _This_ was how fae operate. _This_ was how their beauty and smell and touch could be used to disarm prey. 

Of course. The spicy cinnamon of him that clouded my mind with TV static. The electricity. The lilting voice, soft hands. They would sell me a dream only to pull the bait-and-switch like rational predators would. And all I could think about was the tightening in my abdomen, how good it would feel to have him on me, in me, teeth and venom and all. If Edward ripped out my throat right now, it would take too long for me to notice and be too late for me to care. 

It would be so easy for him. For the both of us. Neat, tidy, clean.

“Do you really want me to kiss you?” he breathed under my earlobe.

I paddled through a muddled murky brain, scrambled around for an answer. “Hey, that’s, you can’t do that, that’s not fair. You can’t flip my question back at me.”

“ _You_ have to choose, not me. This is not a decision you can simply allude—”

“Kiss me. Please kiss me.” I laughed like a broken dam dripping water. “I can’t stand the back-and-forth. Kiss me.”

Edward hesitated reaching for me. By the way his mouth formed wordless syllables, I knew he wanted to finish his sentence from before. He wanted to repeat the question again. He begged for a No even when he wished on every star for a Yes. 

And that’s not me speculating—you could tell he did. By the way his fingers grazed my cheek, by how his eyes traced the features of my face, by the way he inhaled, exhaled, I knew that he had thought about this. How he would brace himself. Where he would touch me. What he would look for in my expression. Just in case it ever came up.

“Try to stay very still,” he breathed.

I nodded as slight as I could, my tongue flicking across my upper lip, our eyes fluttering closed. The entire room erupted in crackling energy that intensified with every passing second that I waited for him with a pounding heart.

Edward’s cold lips met my soft ones. He kissed me.

He _kissed_ me, oh my _god—_

Voltage. Blood boiled under my skin, burned in my lips. My breath came in a wild gasp, a tide of tension swept away, heart exploded. _Let this be real. Oh please let this be real._ My fingers knotted in his hair, we fell into each other’s curves. My lips parted as I breathed in his heady scent. _Let it be real._

He zipped away from my lips, my grip, stole the breath out of my mouth; the movement made me stumble off the bed. 

Before I could register what had happened, he was staring at me, wide-eyed, from the opposite end of the bed, one hand sunken into the wood of my headboard. And I stared back, fingers finding my lips, wondering where the hell my oxygen had gone.

I had never really understood the phrase ‘deafening silence’ until now, with four feet of space between us. Neither of us could catch our breath, but I heard nothing. The shock of our expressions drowned everything out. _Dammit, he told me not to move and I did the complete opposite._

"Oops,” I breathed. At least my eardrums still worked.

“Honest, are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

Electricity buzzed my brain against my skull. Or maybe I could still hear the rush of my heart in rhythm with my heaving breaths. Or maybe I didn’t want to think about how much of an idiot I was. Or maybe I didn’t want to think about how badly I wanted him, _god_ , did I want Edward Cullen, my knees shook I wanted Edward Cullen so goddamn bad— “No. Not at all.”

He collapsed in a heap. Once a beat of silence passed, he burst into laughter, hands running over his face, through his hair. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered. Breathed it all in. “Thank God.” Blissed out. Frozen. Silent. 

Meanwhile, I had never moved. Just stared. Mouth agape.

“Should I go? Do you need a minute?” I teased.

He peeked at me with dark irises. “Do _you_?” 

That did it. We cracked up into giggles like we’d just gotten high, insane by the absurdity of it all: that a kiss could feel this good, that two people so far apart could have so much fun, that we could ever—be this way. Together. Oh. 

And with the wall of tension dropped, at the drop of a hat we drew towards each other again like magnets. _Stop the pull_ , slide into his arms reaching out to me, onto his lap, whispering to him with my hands on his neck, “I don’t if you don’t,” just to make it stop. Who knows who the hell said that, who knows anything, I know nothing—

Our lips touched soft as snow as concrete until his strangled “I do,” moaned against my mouth, and shaking his head, untangling himself from me, “Wait, I do, I do, please. A minute, I need a minute.”

Curled up at the foot of bed, I said, “S-sorry,” with eyes wide. “Is—is it the blood?”

His laugh sounded exhausted. “It’s yes, it’s the—yes,” he confirmed, panting, falling back again. “It’s the everything. God. Lord. You’re going to kill me. What on earth am I doing here. Why are we doing this. I should go.”

“No.” The silence that followed made it seem like I had to speak. So I struggled for an answer that wasn’t tantamount to begging. “Please don’t go. Or, I mean like, if you really think this is a waste of time, you should say something.” Silence. That conflicted expression softened; I waited until his face smoothed out. “Are you okay?” I murmured, stretching out beside him. He read all the details of my face again like he was afraid to forget it.

“Can we just lay here for a while?” he asked me in a quiet voice, brows scrunched.

I anchored myself there, nestling into the mound of pillows beside him, right underneath the marks he had made in my headboard. “As long as you want,” I said, stopping to drink it all in. Edward Cullen. Next to me. _In bed_. The muscles in his shoulders untensed; he gave me a soft, tired smile. “Y’know... I know why we’re doing it. This.”

“I know you do,” he murmured, brushing my cheek. I wriggled closer to him. “I do too.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He gave me a sad smile. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

“Kinda,” I pointed out.

A wider, sadder smile lit up his face and died. “Perhaps you can’t see it now,” he said, placing his hand over mine that lay between us, “but there will come a time—sometime—when you realize how selfish I’ve been.”

“Selfish? For who? You?”

"Yes.”

“Hm.” I shifted my weight again so that my head rested by his arm. I shuddered from the pleasurable cold of him, and he reached over me to pull the corner of a crumpled afghan over my right shoulder. “And isn't admitting it in itself a selfless act?”

“My admitting to being selfish won’t change your mind, if that’s what you believe. Maybe I’m telling you this because I know you’re stubborn enough to tell me I’m wrong.”

“Or maybe you’re actually wrong.”

Edward smoothed the wrinkles in my blanket, brushed his hand down my covered arm. “This isn’t selfless. If I wanted to be selfless, I would leave you and never look back.”

“Leave, huh?”

"Yes. So you can have a normal life. So you can focus in school. Make friends. Date.” His thumb and forefinger came back to my face, stroking the spot where my dimples would be if I was smiling.

"I do those things now.”

“Think of the potential. You’re so talented, so smart. So young. If you applied yourself—if you didn’t waste your time with me—”

“Waste my time?”

“—you could accomplish so much. Meet so many people. Have so many experiences. You limit yourself with me, if you— if you choose to keep me in this way. Do you understand?”

“Do you? I’m not here to live up to your expectations.” It might’ve been the last coherent thought to make it out of my mouth.

“I’m saying to think big picture. What happens if you want to settle down someplace sunny? Or go on a trip with your human friends? We’ll never have dinner dates where we can both eat the food. We can never have children. I don’t even know if we can—”

“I thought you said Alice was the one that had trouble staying in the present,” I mumbled in a sigh. Silence. “If you don’t think it’s gonna work, like, truly a zero-percent chance, then what, l mean—why are you even here? You went through all this trouble to get to know me and spend time with me and acclimate yourself to my _bedroom_...you did that all just to sabotage yourself?”

He startled at the word. “Because I—” His voice broke and he hesitated. “I, no, I’m not sabotaging, I…” Edward struggled. “I don’t know, I, I. I don’t know.”

“Editing,” I murmured. His painful expression flickered.

"I know."

Minutes slid by us in silence; I closed my eyes and nestled into him. A tide of sleep threatened to sweep me away, but Edward’s voice anchored me back into consciousness even as his hands stroked my arm. “Time—gives me dread. If I haven’t given you that impression already.”

“You might’ve mentioned it.”

“Right.” His troubling expression didn’t dissipate. “It sounds counter-intuitive from your vantage point, I know. But it does. Time doesn’t get easier even with an infinite supply.”

“S'that why you’re here? You make no sense sometimes.” 

“I’m here because—because I’m here. Because you’re here. Because I can be _here_ with you.” I mumbled something about how I still didn’t get it. “When you’re, I don't know, falling asleep in your room, for example, or when you’re drawing and tucking your hair behind your ear, when you smile, speak, when you make your case for seventies garbage music,” —my eyes fluttered open in a frown— “when you tell me stories about how you got the scar on your arm, or about how the cacti hold the sun…. When you show me these pieces of you, I stop to memorize the details. Time slows, being with you. And. I had forgotten what it was like. To want to memorize the minutes. It feels like I’ve just remembered how to breathe.”

"Isn’t it the opposite? Time flies when you’re having fun or whatever?”

Edward hesitated. “Sure, yes, when you look back, it’s a brief blip of something wonderful in an otherwise unextraordinary life. For me, those moments are so painfully fleeting relative to my entire lifetime that eventually—I don't know. You start dreading the good times before they even happen because you’re aware of how quick it really is, how much it hurts when the moment is gone.” My breath, evening out in the exhaustion, lulled me into silence. His hand brushing my hair was the only sensation that grounded me to earth. “Every minute gets faster and faster, and that’s what I was getting at earlier.”

I yawned. “So what’s the takeaway?” I murmured into his chest. Cinnamon. I wriggled closer to him, nestled myself in whatever soft space I could find, the crook of his shoulder. “Time is bad?”

“Bells.” Scooping me into his body, he said, voice deep and husky, “You are...vibrant. Vivacious. And engaging. And illuminating. And all those moments in life that we remember forever, they slow down time for that same reason. Right? Because they ground us down with the details, with the wonder and beauty and magic of it all.”

“Mmhmm.”

His fingers went back to trailing down my arm, smoothing my blanket. His voice dropped down to a whisper. “What I’m saying is that you allow me to breathe for even the briefest of moments. Being with you makes me count seconds instead of years. After all this time. _Finally_. Even when I didn’t want it or ask for it, time slowed for me. And now that I’m here, I remember how refreshing it is. And that’s what makes me selfish. I want this feeling to last. I want to breathe. I want you.”

“Selfish takes without giving,” I slurred. “That’s why you’re wrong.”

“Perhaps we should agree to disagree for now. I think it’s time for me to let you rest, sweet lamb,” he breathed in my ear.

“Just stay. Until I fall asleep. Please.”

“You’re practically asleep already.”

“Two more minutes?”

After a brief pause, Edward wrapped his arms around me and held me to him, sighing. Breathing me in. “Two more minutes.” We lay together and listened as my heart beat for the both of us. His fingers combed through my hair.

“I’m sorry we’ve reached an impasse,” he whispered, cold lips burning against the skin.

“We’ve got time.”

I’m unsure if he ever replied.


	16. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she is normal

Here we were again, back at square one: The Cullens never showed at school.

Each day when I walked into Bio to an empty lab table, the pang of disappointment hit a little harder. And while the flutter of shuffling papers and squeaking sneakers and groaning chairs and chattering students slowed to a lull at the voice of Banner’s sub, the shame of being disappointed in the first place would sweep over me just as soon as it had settled in.

I mean, of course Edward has better things to do with his time than sit next to me and spend his immortal life listening to a high school biology lecture. Knowing him, he probably had a PhD in Biology or something.

But to not have one Cullen show up to school? No Edward, no Alice, Emmett, even Rosalie? I don’t know. It seemed odd. Odder than usual. 

Which sounded totally stupid: here I was, being unsettled that a group of immortal vampires I didn’t even know, who devised ways to get suspended from school _for fun_ , were absent from school for several days. 

And yet. 

To not hear from Edward after we—after what had happened? It seemed—rudely out-of-character for him.

So over the course of the next several days, like Edward’s darkening eyes, I slowly became unresponsive.

Rene's lectures be damned. I missed Edward Cullen. 

But unlike Rene, I tried to not be a hypocrite and to keep my life on track. Going to school, attempting sleep (hah!), drawing, studying. Normal things. Whatever. In a feverish bout of wanting to invest in my human life, Charlie and I had even gone out to the shooting range at his request. Thankfully for me, it took his attention away from my unresponsive behavior, the darkening circles under my eyes; the anxiety that made me constantly chew my lip, jostle my leg, sketch messy doodles on whatever paper I could find. 

Un-thankfully for me, ever since Charlie and I hung out, he wouldn’t shut up about putting a .45 in my hands so I could “remember the feel of it.” Ugh. For the record, if I _was_ going to shoot anything— which, I adamantly reminded Charlie several times, I was _not_ into— I preferred hunting bows, crossbows, and knives to any of Charlie’s dumb _bang bang_ gizmos. At least I remembered how to use a bow.

But I’ll admit, it _was_ nice to see a smile lighting up Charlie’s face over a potential shared interest. What’s more, it was nice to have him talk so I didn’t have to. So I humored his relentless babbling even when I couldn't find the energy to engage, all sorts of conversations about how we could get Billy and Jake out to the archery range, how Billy had a vast collection of weapons that sat untouched since he got put in his wheelchair and, really, he’d be ecstatic to see his best friend’s daughter getting good use out of use of it, he was just saying that same thing over the phone last night no wait does that mean he knows about the Cullens —

“Huh?”

“I asked you what you asked me, I couldn't hear,” said Angela, and I blinked. Frowned. 

The lunch table looked at me; my leg stopped jostling. ( _We’re at lunch now? We’re at school? And I’m talking?_ ) I glanced at the french fry I was apparently holding.

"Uh. Yeah,” I mumbled with an exhausted laugh, throwing the fry back on my plate and wiping the grease on my jeans. _C'mon, Swan, focus. You're here._ I took a large drink of my soda. "Yeah, uh, right. Well, I just heard you n Eric talking about the advice column and I—just— I was thinking, like—” _Focus focus focus_ . “Do you know anything about what happened to the Cullens? For, uh, the paper, uh, article-thing you were writing?” _Pathetic, pathetic!_ “Kinda weird they haven’t been here, huh?” Another drink.

Jess must’ve smelled my desperation from ten million miles away. Either that, or the thought of being left out of conversation ticked her off: “Someone’s been keeping tabs,” she said with a sly smile.

Blushing, I fumbled to play it cool. “I just didn’t know if maybe they got suspended or something,” I said, joke flat.

While Angela and Jess exchanged a sly, knowing look, Eric practically leapt across the table to ask, “Wait. You know about that? Oh, my god. Okay. Check it out. I had this crazy theory that they’re getting suspended _on purpose_.”

Here was my chance to divert the focus from me. “Funny,” I said, stealing a side glance at her, “I thought that was Angela’s theory. Angela, didn’t you come up with that?”

Angela’s lips flicked into a smirk, but she didn’t look up; she stabbed her salad and waited for Eric’s response. “W-well, I assigned the article to her,” said Eric. “Whatever, it’s, it’s, just, like, something we were throwing around.” They exchanged a look. Before Jess could step in to break up the moment, Eric continued, “Besides—suspensions? Forget it. Lobster in Jell-O, so what? Red herrings. Here’s my question, ladies: what the hell has _Banner_ been up to? Huh? Anyone know?” He tapped his index finger on the table like he was pushing a button.

A goofy grin spread over my face. “I dunno, getting fired?” Angela scoff-laughed and when she caught my eyes, hers twinkled.

“Well, the rumor is that he got fired,” Eric said, unaware. “You know what Principal Johnson had to say? Banner ‘resigned.’ To ‘pursue other endeavors.’”

“Enlightening,” lilted Angela sarcastically. Jess looked none too pleased to hear some flirtatious note in her tone.

“Okay. You wanna know what I think? I think it has something to do with Cullen. —No, okay, just listen, okay? Hear me out. Bells, you remember when they got into that whole thing in—oh, wait, I guess you weren’t there. Well, they got into a fight in Bio—”

“I told her the story,” said Jessica.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, so after the fight, things are cool. And then like a day later Banner disappears? Freaky stuff.”

I shook my head, still chewing on a french fry. Angela squinted her eyes at him while I said, “Uh, so those two things are connected?”

“Yeah, because of what Edward said. —Babe, didn’t you tell Bells what Edward said?” Eric asked Jess. 

Jess flushed red. “What, his cringey little Gerard Way-esque side-comment? No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, my god. Cringey? No. You’ve no idea; it was, like, it was just the _way_ he said it. Ooh. It was, like, _raw_. It was like this deep, growly, like, like Batman-y—”

“Careful, _babe_ , you’ll break your back swooning,” Jess muttered, stabbing a bite of her salad.

“He was all like,” Eric deepened his voice, “‘You better watch your step cuz I’m coming for you.’ Or something like that, I dunno, whatever. And Banner was just like—” Eric passed a hand over his face, his expression morphing to that of feigned horror. “Y’know? —Shady. It’s shady.”

“This story is shady,” I told him.

“This whole argument is shady,” Angela mumbled, and I laughed.

Jess broke out of her pout to throw in a syrupy laugh of her own. “Yeah, like what are you saying? Edward Cullen committed murder?” My blood ran cold, but I laughed along with Jess and Ang. They bantered back and forth on which Cullen was most likely to commit murder and had decided on Rosalie when Eric, thankfully, cut them off.

He sneered, “Ahahahaharhar—no. You really wanna know? Cuz I asked around. Turns out, Banner was _mugged_.” We burst into obnoxious laughter. Eric’s expression fell. “And—No, I’m serious, guys—and he got mugged by Edward Cullen! Or at least got his money stolen! And Banner was like, emotionally scarred or whatever. So he quit. And that’s the story.”

“Are you serious with that shit?” I said over Jess and Ang’s laughter.

“C’mon man, even if it was him, he’s probably just saying it to get attention,” Angela snickered so hard she snorted; Eric’s eyes flashed. 

“For the last time, I’m telling you, okay, red herring. Drop the suspension thing. The suspension thing is dead. Okay? Theo Lawrence has pre-calc with Edward and Edward told him to tell everyone that he—”

“Son of a millionaire Edward Cullen _mugged_ Mr. Banner and then spread a rumor about it?” Angela snarked, shoving another bite of food in her mouth. “Seriously, do you ever listen to yourself when you open your mouth?”

“Oh, my god.” Jess rolled her eyes at the both of them, flushing red at their conversion. “Lay off the prosecution, Ang. Like, they’re not gonna be in school. Hello? It’s _sunny_ out?” The whole table frowned and looked at her. She had said like she was defending herself, stabbing her plastic fork so hard into her salad that the tines bent under the force. When she caught our expressions, she said, “Dr. and Mrs. Cullen always pull the Cullens out of school on sunny days to go hiking or whatever. That’s why they’re gone.”

I frowned, question marks in my eyes. Before I could stop myself, I said, “How the hell’d you figure that one out?”

“Tch. Please. Molly Apfelbaum told me—”

Eric grumbled, “Oh so now Molly’s the oracle, huh? We all gotta—”

“—that Rosalie— Uh, babe: I’m _talking_?” Eric startled and shut up. “Molly told me that Rosalie told her that that’s what they do: they go do naturey things when it’s sunny out. I guess they’re super outdoorsy treehuggers or whatever.” Jess shook her head and crunched down on another bite of lettuce, as if using it as an outlet for her own bitterness. “I tried that excuse on my mom once? Laughed me right out of the room.”

The sun. Of course. The Cullens had spotty attendance not only for the suspensions but because they couldn’t go out in the sun. Not unless they wanted to lose their heads.

“You gotta shoot your shot,” Angela shrugged, and I cackled.

Jess side-eyed her, then Eric.

So, okay. They were off being “normal.” And there was no reason for me to be concerned, there was no reason for me to let them live rent-free in my head while they were off doing—whatever. Who knew. Even the lunch table rejected Jess’ theory (much to her annoyance), and through fits of snorting laughter they pondered the most likely scenarios: either the Cullens were vacationing on their private island, eating croissants at an al fresco Parisian cafe, or off snorting designer drugs and fucking each other in a fancy mansion on Cape Cod, since I guess that’s what you do when you’re a member of a incestuous adoptive family with a million kajillion bucks.

My guess was they were hunting. Even that didn’t sit right with me. _Why hadn’t I heard from Edward?_ He’d been gone for days and hadn’t bothered messaging me after some brief back-and-forth about punk rock that Monday afternoon. Since then, nothing. Edward wasn’t much of a texter. Go figure.

But no calls, letters, ravens, smoke signals, nothing? In three days?

My attention tore back to the table, but my eyes lingered on the sun rolling in patches outside. 

“How come the Cullens get to go out to Cape Cod while I’m stuck in this dumpster?” Ang was complaining. “I’d like to go out. See the sun once in a while.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I said, and did.

Eric laughed. Jess blinked at our exchange. Then he said, “Ang, we're literally gonna be out all day Saturday,” nudging her forearm. And Jess, startled, sniped another bite of her salad, looking down at the table so we all couldn't see her chomping angrily on her greens.

“Not just going out this weekend,” said Ang, covering her mouth and waving her fork in the air, “but just, like, getting away from school, know what I mean? It’s oppressive.”

“True. —We could go out for lunch tomorrow,” said Eric. Jess jumped at the idea. “Lansen will throw a fit since it’s Friday, but screw it; we’re outta here in three months.”

“Yeah,” said Ang, “let’s do it. Friday is fifty-cent pancake day at Judy’s—”

“ _Exactly_ what I was thinking—”

“Totally, sounds awesome, it’d be great for us to get out,” said Jess, smiling and nodding. 

Ang and Eric both nodded and agreed with her, holding different expressions.

So, basically, it was a date with a third wheel. 

Which is why Ang looked at me with pleading eyes. 

And which is why I said with a sigh, “Yeah, I’d love to go out for lunch.” Even though I struggled to finish a meal.

And just like that, we had a double-date. 

Cute. Normal. A normal, human lunch away from my anxiety of the missing Cullens. 

And this could’ve been my life. 

Or, well, I mean...it was my life. Right now. Hanging out with friends, a double-date lunch. Hanging out with Charlie. Doing my homework. Normal things. I was normal. This was normal. Everything was fine. I was fine.

And the morning after yet another normal nightmare and another normal sleepless night would lead to just another normal day in my world, consumed with normal thoughts of vampires.

***

“These doors close at 1:31; I’m not going to be signing any hall passes after that. —Mr. Newton, did you hear me?” 

Our group snickered and nudged a blushing Eric Newton as we brushed past Mrs. Lansen, her lips pursed and pen tapping at her receptionist’s desk. He caught my eye and we laughed. Jess asked about what our joke was. As I blushed and said, “Oh, nothing,” Eric replied, “Just, something Lansen said on Bells’ first day, passive-aggressive whatever.” Of course, Jessica being Jessica, she swooped in and pressed him for more details, cutting off our conversation. 

Wind whipped at Angela’s jacket and my long-sleeve shirt. Despite the afternoon bringing a warm front, a chill still hung in the air. I shivered. If we were going out to lunch, I’d have to steal my spare coat out of The Thing before we left. 

Angela and I trailed behind the swirling storm of teenage awkwardness that was Jess and Eric’s flirtatious conversation. Instead, we quizzed each other and joked around about the Seven Commandments in George Orwell’s _Animal Farm_ for a test we had next period. 

We ambled down the steps to the parking lot. While Jess and Eric flirted in front of us, Angela leaned over and murmured to me, “Looks like your boyfriend’s back.” And she gestured across the parking lot. “Hey, Eric, now’s your chance to ask about Edward’s criminal history.”

From across the lot, Edward heard her. 

Our eyes found each other immediately.

He looked way more casual than I’d ever seen him. His damp disheveled hair, unbuttoned juniper-green flannel, blue jeans, and white undershirt. Or maybe he looked extra casual standing next to the flawless, towering Rosalie, wearing a cinched chambray dress slit up the side, embroidered (by Alice?) and buttoned to the collar.

Before, the concrete stretched between us harbored nothing but the silence of parked cars and damp March rain. Now, it felt like every molecule existing in the space between us had a direction. A purpose. A pull. 

We approached each other.

Kinda. As Edward instinctively moved, Rosalie gripped his shoulder and yanked him back. Whatever she was yelling around before, now she was furious, and he was paying even less attention. 

As for myself, I didn’t realize I had started drawing towards him until Ang broke her banter with Eric to whoop my name with a laugh and Jess called from several paces away, “Uh, Bells? My car is this way?”

I spun back to them, all-too-aware of how much I shook. “I’m cold,” I told them, rubbing my arms. “I’m grabbing my jacket from The Th—my truck. I can meet you guys there, if you want. On Third Street, right?”

I didn’t wait for a response. As I turned back to my journey, Ang was shouting at me to ‘Ask about the mugging!’ and Jess was saying something about how they didn’t mind waiting, but honestly, I didn’t want them to wait. I didn’t want anything. Except him.

We stopped, breathless, with less than five feet of space left to go. My whole body hummed with energy; it crackled in the air around us. While Rosalie glared at Edward across the parking lot with her arms crossed, my own group chattered behind me.

No one existed. None of it mattered. 

“Hi,” I said with what little breath I had left. 

And before I could even ask him, I launched myself into his arms. 

We locked together like two puzzle pieces, the rigidity of his cold body shuddering and molding to my warmth like ice melting. The shock of it sucked the rest of the universe away.

He stroked my hair and breathed in. “Beautiful Bells. Finally. Oh, sweet lamb. Hello. Hello.”

A strong pull, but a subdued spark, something that made me jittery, nervous— I pulled away. “Are you alright?” When my eyes glanced at his lips, he pressed his index finger to them, giving me a cautionary look— _no_. 

He continued without answering me, still holding me. “I take back what I said about your rock opera,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair over my shoulder.

“Oh!” I stumbled off of him. I chattered while I scanned his face: _Nervous._ _Relieved._ “Yes! Really? _American Idiot_? Thoughts? Man, Bio has been torture without you—where’ve you been?—Eric’s got this stupid-crazy rumor about you; I think you’ll need to put him in his place.”

“I’ve been inside his head. Eric Newton knows his place.” Edward dug our USB out of his pocket. My face lit up. “Speaking of knowing their place, Green Day still isn’t punk. You’ll never convince me that they stand alongside the Sex Pistols.” I rolled my eyes, muttering about him being a snob. He slid the data into my palm smooth like he was bribing me, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand and making me shudder. Dazzling me. “But I’m still thinking about that ‘plastic bag on a monument’ line. Incredible. The imagery is—”

“ _Gorgeous_ , right?” And he nodded, smiling. I balled the USB in my fist. “Yes! Hell yes! That’s exactly what I was saying in class! Oh my god, the parallels that Billie Joe Armstrong draws between the social dysfunction of American consumerist culture and the political dysfunction of the Bush adm—”

“Bells!” Jess snapped from the car, waving at us. “C’mon, thirty minutes.”

“Mrs. Lansen!” Eric reminded me with a laugh. 

“I won’t keep you,” said Edward. He snapped his fingers. “Oh—but remind me to bring you a copy of that Sinclair Lewis book I mentioned; you’ll love it. Especially after _Animal Farm._ ” He winked.

I turned back to him, now all-too-aware of the blush creeping up on my face. “Yeah, thanks; I’d appreciate it. They didn’t have any copies at the library and I don’t wanna wait a week, so.” I hesitated. _Please don’t let this conversation be over; I’ve been waiting so long_ — “You can, uh...bring it over later. If you want,” I said, flushing deep red. He startled at that, blinking. The energy buzzed at a frequency that unsettled me. I frowned. Lowered my voice. “Are you—is everything alright?” _Something’s wrong with the energy, something doesn’t make sense._

Edward’s smile slipped. And I noticed, for the first time in a long time, his cidery dark eyes. And I noticed, for the first time, Rosalie striding towards us, already halfway there. “I have—” he gestured in the general vicinity of Rosalie, walking closer. “Obligations. We’ve been busy. —Aren’t you cold? You’ll catch your death out here.” Before I could answer, he shrugged out of his flannel and draped it around my shoulders.

I snaked my arms into the sleeves, my muscles unfurling at the smell of him. It calmed me. “Thanks,” I said, beaming. Edward folded the collar back, mirroring my expression. “So you’re okay?”

"Bells! We’re leaving without you!”

“ _Brother_.” Rosalie said it like she would say the word ‘idiot.’ His fingers flitted from my collarbone. She glared at the back of his neck, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hips to one side. Wisps of her blonde hair caught the breeze and brushed across her shoulders. When she talked, Edward stared into the distance like he was Alice getting a vision. “We don’t have time for girls. Or did you forget?”

He startled at something that made Rosalie's face twitch, closed his eyes; I blushed pink and looked down. By the time I glanced back up at him, his expression had already flickered through several emotions, landing on annoyance. He never turned around. “I think we do have time. I didn’t forget; I simply don’t agree.” A beat passed between them, and Edward’s expression darkened.

“Common theme lately, isn’t it? For once I thought you and I were on the same page, but Alice got to you again, didn’t she? Like she got to everyone else?” Rose’s glare knifed into me, and I felt my whole world burst into flames fueled by the rage of a thousand angry suns. 

_If looks could kill, amirite?_

I shrunk from her gaze.

“Edward, um, can we—” _talk?_ My breath caught in my lungs when he looked at me. With Rosalie breathing down our necks I was forced to change course, to something more...ambiguous. “So could you drop off the book? Later? It’d be cool if I could compare and contrast the two. For my final paper.” I could barely stand to look at him with Rosalie’s eyes boring into me in the background. Edward hesitated at my request. A car horn honked behind me. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” I stumbled over backwards steps to join my friends but kept my eyes on him. “Please, though, Edward?” Another long honk. “Guys, shut _up_!”

He glanced at Rosalie, back to me. “Maybe once all is said and done,” he murmured.

“Oh. ‘Kay. Yeah. Sure.” I jumped into the car, making sure to record every millisecond of his shifting expression. I had no idea, really, when I would see him next. And the hesitance bled into my every word, every facial expression, every breath, for the next several hours.

***

“And I mean, he’s whatever, y’know. But _her_ , she’s just—ugh!” Angela huffed, ripping the glasses off her face to clean them. The lenses squeaked against her shirt. “She’s impossible! Like just because I work with him on the paper and can stand to laugh at some of the stuff Eric says doesn’t mean we’re fucking in the backseat of his Honda, y’know?”

“Honestly dude, I think she’s just—” what? jealous? The Thing shuddered to a stop at the red light, grumbling at having to idle at the empty intersection. I rubbed my eyes, raked a hand through my hair to push it from my face. My hands found ten-and-two on the steering wheel again. “I don’t think she’s jealous of you, I think she’s just—a jealous person. I dunno. She got pissed when she found out I’ll be working at Eric’s parents’ store this summer. She’s interning at a law office and she’s upset that I’m gonna be selling tents with Eric or whatever. Ugh. Maybe I'm better off working at the diner.”

“She _is_ jealous. She’s jealous. I don’t know where the hell she got off confronting me about it, but that’s all it is! She’s insecure! —God, I can’t _believe_ she said that to me. And in front of Eric! Like! What the fuck! Now he’s gonna think I like him or something, like I’m trying to steal him away.” Angela’s head smacked against the headrest, and in her frustrated snarl, she stomped her feet on the floor. “Possessive. Controlling. I can’t with her. I really can’t.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think she’s possessive about Eric or anything.” I adjusted my hands on the steering wheel, sweating at how this reminded me of myself and Georgi. “Kinda feels like she just doesn’t like being left out of stuff, y’know?”

“Right? Ugh. You’re so right. Like did you see her face when I asked if you could give me a ride home today? She lives on the exact opposite end of town and it’s like I personally insulted her. Like I wanna drive home with her after what she said to me?” She huffed. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I know it seems like I’m crazy—”

“Not crazy.”

“—because she seems like such a good friend; she is— But— We’ve been friends for, like, six years now and I just. I dunno if I can keep doing it. I can't keep doing it.”

Globs of dense greenery passed by our windows in a blur. “I mean, yeah, y’know, I get it, kinda. Sometimes you just outgrow your friends,” I mumbled. 

In some ways, I understood. Our paths switch and cross and change, all the time, always. And we move on. Sometimes it's great, sometimes it sucks. But it happens.

But in other ways, I didn’t get it. Because I’ve... never had a friend for that long.

Sure, yeah, Rene was _kind of_ a friend. A friend-mom. But. She was also my mom. So. 

Anyway, I don’t know if that counts.

“Exactly. That’s what it is. I’ve outgrown her. It’s so frustrating to feel like she’s trying to _compete_ with you at every—”

“Fuck!” I slammed on the brakes, spitting curse words through my clenched teeth as The Thing’s brakes screamed. Our seatbelts choked us. The Thing shuddered to a stop a few inches into the intersection, and we hit the backs of our seats. 

I exhaled. We panted. “Sorry. Stop sign. I didn’t—wasn’t paying attention. Sorry. My bad.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Too much green.” I closed my eyes, inhaled, and opened them. Stepped back onto the gas like I was dipping my toes into a pool of water. And we continued. “Uh, yeah, I just—I kinda know what you mean. About outgrowing someone. It sucks, dude.”

“You look tired,” she said, ignoring me. I said nothing, but she blushed when she caught the twitch of my frown. “Not that you don’t look good. Just — you know.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s—” I gave her a humorless chuckle “—honestly, it’s my house,” I said, adjusting in my seat so I sat taller. “It’s haunted. I’m convinced. Ghosts. I can’t sleep worth a damn.” Did that even make sense?

A smirk unfurled on her lips. Her eyes sparkled, guarded, like she knew what I was doing but humored me anyway. “So. You believe in ghosts?”

I scoffed. “You don’t believe in ghosts?” We exchanged a look. “Wait, what, really? —Wow. You’re not into superstitions at all, huh? No white lighter curse, no ghosts—”

“Superstitions stop progress,” Angela sniffed, shrugging. I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. The next song whispered from the radio; she turned it up a little and sat back in the seat. “I mean, they’re fun and everything; don’t get me wrong. I grew up going to La Push Days every year—Have you been? The summer festival where they tell all the stories?”

“Red-eyed strangers,” I murmured, my skin icing over. 

Ang laughed. “Totally. And the stories of the wolves and the birds—hell yeah, those were my favorites. But they’re just fun human culture things, y’know? Like, ghosts? Someone dead roaming around the earth? Cool to think about. But it’s not real. No offense— like, you believe in ghosts? I respect that. But that stuff’s not for me.” 

I chuckled. “The world is weird, dude.”

“Real shit, I'll give you that.”

“Here’s some real shit: I’m going to lose mine if I don’t get a decent night’s sleep.”

"I’m sure if you were with Edward you’d sleep much more soundly,” Angela lilted, licking her lips to hide her smile. 

I rolled my eyes, flicking on the blinker, looking, turning. “Jokes.”

“No jokes. That hug earlier? Nicholas Sparks–level—”

“Fuck off—”

“—eye-fucking—what? Oh, like I’m wrong? Tell me I’m wrong; tell me you didn’t wish he would—”

“Ang, we kissed, like, a week ago,” I laughed, dizzy. “I dunno why you and Jess think we’re having wild tantric sexcapades or whatever, but honest—” Ang laughed “—we’re taking it slow. We’re not sleeping together. Or even together, I guess.” 

“Yet,” she added, winking. “Ooh, actually, ok, okay: speaking of sleeping.” I exhaled through my nostrils with a smile, throwing on the blinker to turn onto her road. “What I was gonna say before the whole stop-sign thing happened— some of the La Push gang and I are gonna go camping at Goat Rocks next weekend. You should totally come. Get a decent night's sleep. Especially if you bring Edward. Wink wink, if ya know what I mean.” And she cackled at her own obvious innuendo.

I tried to hide my smile. “Yeah, sounds good, I’d love to. Edward might pass, but.”

“Then you can sleep with me.”

“Ooh. Gladly, babycakes.” I grinned and winked at her. She snort-laughed. “I gotta ask Charlie though. I’m sorta in hot water with him, so.”

“Hot water?”

“Semi-warm. Lukewarm. Tepid water, really.”

“I get it. I’m in _tepid water_ myself. Dad found out I commissioned an artist for a tattoo. _Así es la vida._ ” 

“True as true is true, dude.”

As soon as The Thing lurched into park in front of the modest ranch-style home, Angela threw the door open, hopping out.

“Ask him, though, please? Charlie? And Edward? It’d be great to have you guys come.”

“Is Jess coming?”

Her eyebrow arched; her face lit up in a devilish grin. “Why, you think she’ll try to steal your man?”

“Um, I don’t know if you know this, but our friend Jess is dating _the_ Eric Newton, so.”

“Mm, yes, passionate, beautiful, knight-in-shining-armor Eric Newton. Prince of awkward high school boys, king of v-neck t-shirts, journalist extraordinaire, mwah mwah mwah—” She made kissy noises and we burst into laughter again.

A flash of pale green light sliced through low-hanging stratus clouds behind Angela. 

I gasped, jerking up in my seat, neck chilling. _Nightmares, no, no._ While the hair on the back of my neck raised, Angela, still smiling, glanced over her shoulder to see where I’d been looking. 

No thunder followed. Only the green light. Through the clouds? Or maybe through the trees?

Either way, didn't matter. Angela never saw.

“You okay?”

The goosebumps wouldn't go away. The panic wouldn’t leave. Red-eyed strangers flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t shove them away. Nightmares. Always.

“Bells?”

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. There was no way I could tell her about the light—she’d think I was insane from sleep deprivation. Or maybe Ang was my subconscious subtly alerting me that I was actually having another nightmare and this is all just—

“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” I blurted out in a small voice. 

She smirked. She knew what I was doing. But this time, there was no humor in her when she humored me. “Rain? In Forks? I don’t buy it.”

“Harhar,” I said, playing off my surprise in a weak smile that didn’t reach my eyes. I caught my dark circles in the rearview. And while I wanted to say, I think I’m on the brink of insanity, what came out of my mouth was: “No, I just, I forgot to defrost the steaks for tonight. That’s all. I'm gonna have to think of something fast for dinner.” Several months’ worth of perforated sleep seeped into my wooden tone.

“Microwave,” Angela suggested, pointing at me while she walked backwards. Her smile carried sympathy. “Thanks again for the ride. Get home safe. Get some rest.”

I waved her goodbye.

She kinda got it, Angela. She kinda understood. Maybe she knew what it was like to be deprived of sleep. Maybe she knew what it was like to slowly lose slices of your life to some unidentifiable. Maybe she understood. Human things.

But was that enough for me, now? Driving down the street, wide-eyed, trembling, looking everywhere for stop signs and bolts of— lightning? no, no, it must've been green but maybe it was white? no, no, I must be sleep-deprived. What was I saying?

Yeah, maybe Angela got it. Maybe she understood.

But I guess I kinda doubt it.

Angela didn’t believe in ghosts.


	17. Chapter 14, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they argue

After I’d gotten home and passed out, a sharp banging on the door jolted me from the couch, from a dreamless dream onto a cold wood floor. Goosebumps prickled my skin.

The  _ BANGBANGBANG _ continued while I padded down the hall, rubbing the back of my neck.

When I threw open the door, Edward stood there, beads of water running down his face, his hair, his soaking wet shirt. Pattering rain puddled in the grassy divots of the yard behind him, thrummed tinny and hollow on the roof of The Thing.

Our eyes met, and his anxiety and terror struck me. By the time it registered in my sleep-addled brain, they had melted into relief.

“Edward.” As if any other guy would be standing in the rain at my front door, waiting for me? “Oh, thank god.” 

He stumbled in and scooped me up into a hug before I could leap at him. Where our bare skin met, we recharged each other. But as soon as my nails dug into the folds of his wet shirt, his fingers fluttered and he shuddered away from me, as if touching me hadn’t clearly been the best part of his day.

“I’ve been out in the rain. I’d hate for you to catch c—oh.” Blinked. Looked at me, smoothed my collar. His collar. “You’re wearing my shirt,” he said, looking at it.

“Uh.” I flushed, looked down at it. “Yeah. I liked this better than what I was wearing. So I changed at the diner. Uh. And.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” I said. _ Oh god if my face could blush any harder it’d erupt  _ “I mean, obviously I’ll wash it before I gave it back, I just—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

He swallowed. “Don’t wash it,” he said quieter, eyes fixated, unblinking, at me. “Don’t give it back. Keep it.” His eyes trailed along my collarbone. When he came back into my embrace, he did so in his usual purposeful, circumspect manner, folding me into his chest and locking me there. If he hadn’t pressed his wet forehead to mine, I would’ve never been able to hear the way his breath ran ragged. It only made him seem more passionate when he whispered, “I’ve missed you.” I would’ve broke down right then if I didn’t pull him into a crushing hug instead. “Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

I couldn’t help an incredulous laugh. “Oh, holy hell, I could ask you the same thing,” I said, scanning his expression, intoxicated from my own exhaustion and the smell of cinnamon and cloves. “I’m fine. I’m okay.” At that, he relaxed. Then he zipped out of my grasp to each of the windows in the living room, peering out, searching for something. He locked each one. “What about you? What happened? Where were you? Why were you so worried earlier?”

“Worried? —Was I worried?”

“I mean, your eyebrows give you away most of the time, to be honest.” Edward looked down; I swear I saw his eyebrow twitch. He brushed past me and glanced out at each of the kitchen windows, sliding the lock on one. “But it was...in the air? If that makes sense? Y’know that electricity I was talking about in the meadow? It was like that. Like it always is. But you felt—I don’t know. I felt jumpy, being around you. Nervous. Like, I felt—us. But you weren't—you. —Ugh, dammit. I’m trying not to sound cheesy or weird about it; it’s just—”

“No, no, don’t worry, everything— it’s fine,” he murmured, returning to my arms and brushing his lips against my forehead, combing his wet hand through my hair. “Things were wrong, but it’s okay now. Rosalie and I handled it. Everything’s fine.” Before I could respond, his voice dropped to a level I strained to hear. “I understand what you mean. You felt good. Happy. It was— It felt so good, Bells, I can’t tell you how good it felt to—see you. After all that time.” 

“I’ve missed you too, by the way,” I murmured. He tipped my chin between his index and thumb and bent to press his cool lips to my cheek, to my jaw.

“Although,” he grinned, lips brushing my ear, “if it’s not being too forward, you felt like you could’ve used a cup of coffee.”

I scoff-laughed like I hadn’t slept in years. Maybe I hadn’t. “Apparently I look like I need a cup of coffee. Or at least some concealer.” My fingertips felt below my eyelids. As if to prove my own point, I escaped his grasp and pulled out the kitchen chair and plopped into it, sitting with my back to the window. I slumped over the table, rubbing at my face. “Yeah. I coulda used about twelve more cups of coffee. I still could, probably, honestly, ugh. I haven’t— I can’t sleep. I—can’t.”  _ don’t tear up don’t tear up, please, you just need sleep— _ “Actually, that’s kinda what I was hoping to talk to you about. Is it okay if we talk?”

“That’s why I’m here too,” he said, sitting in the chair across from me. My heart sank. Although my guess was that he was here to do his same old “we can’t be together” speech, he didn’t flinch from my grasp when I reached over the table to brush the length of his arm and grab his hand. In fact, he looked entranced, watching me knead my thumbs nervously into his palms. Edward had said everything was fine. Why didn’t I feel it on him? Why did he still feel...off?

Or was it me? Or was it us?

I spoke like the wind had been knocked out of me. “I think something’s happening.” Silence. “I mean. I dunno what else to say. I don’t know what it means, but I know something’s wrong, I can feel it, I just—know.” I squeezed his hand in mine to illustrate my point.

Judging by his reaction, that must not have been what he expected to come out of my mouth. But his palm flipped so it covered my hand and he said, “Oh, no, sweet girl, everything’s okay,” in a soothing tone, brushing my hands. “Everything’s fine.”

“No, something’s wrong,” I said, face twisting up. “I know you’re worried about something but, but even besides that, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t sleep and— there were lights today.” I flushed red. I had no idea what the hell the lights thing even meant.

Apparently, neither did he. He frowned. “What?”

“Lights? Like, in the clouds? Or it could’ve also been in the trees, I dunno. ”

“Like lightning?”

“Kinda,” I said. 

“Okay. And it wasn’t lightning?”

“No. It was, like—greenish. Kinda. Maybe. Like, ropey. Er, uh—damn, what’s the word? Like, like a string.  _ Ugh _ .”  _ Fuck, what am I saying? _ “Like a...something. Like a light.”

“Like a— Okay.” He frowned. “Yes. Well. I can’t say I know anything about that. But I can talk to the others. Maybe it’s something.”

I huffed, dropping his hand, waving it away. I used my free hand to rub the sleep and tension out of my face. “Y’know what, just forget the lights. I’m hallucinating. I’m losing it, honestly, I know, I shouldn’ta been dropping off Ang with the whole stop sign thing, I shoulda been paying attention—” Edward wouldn’t know anything about that. And it wouldn't do me any good to tell him; he would only freak out. So before he could ask, I continued. “The point is I need to sleep but I can’t and—” And what? What did I want from Edward? What could he possibly do to make any of this better? I sighed. “And...I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m asking. Forget it.”

“No, what were you going to say?”

“Nothing. I dunno. Forget it. I dunno what I’m saying.”

“How can I help you?” A moment a silence passed between us, like he was hoping I would say more. I didn’t. I didn't know what to say. Remembering my conversation with Ang from earlier today, my insides fluttered at all the possibilities. “Then perhaps I should say my piece,” he murmured, reaching for my hand again. Frowning, heart sinking, I let him take it. “Bells, I have— truly, irrevocably come to care for you. Deeply. I want you to be able to sleep well and be happy. And—” he stopped when I ripped away from his grip, frowning. “Hm?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

Edward’s frown broke into an incredulous chuckle. “My saying I care about you is cause for concern?”

“You’re doing the speech thing again,” I said. “You either say something really good or really bad when you make a speech. And a lotta times when you wanna make a bad speech you say something good first so it sounds less bad.”

He kept his laughter hidden in his sparkling eyes. “Can’t a vampire make an overwrought speech without his motives being scrutinized?”

“I know your tricks. I’m too tired to play the game. Just tell me what you’re saying. Small words, please. I’m dying.”

The serious air returned to his expression. “I’m saying, maybe you should go spend some time with your mother. In Phoenix.” He saw my brows drop to a frown and he reached for my hand a third time. “I want you to be—”

“No. Don’t even. What? I’m not going back to Rene. Why would you ask that?”

He looked pained. “It’s coming from a place of—of concern, I assure you. Do you really think this is the best environment for you?”

" You’re saying everything is fine and now you’re telling me to run away?”

“Not run away. No. Take a break. That’s all. Go someplace — sunnier. It might do you good.”

“What?” Hot, twisting anger sprung me out of my chair, I swayed from exhaustion. Edward pushed away from his own chair but before he could steady me, I leaned over the table with a fist. I breathed to steady and quiet my voice. “What do you think this is? Why do you think I’m here? This _ is _ a break. You think I’d be doing any better in Phoenix? Keeping track of bills and schedules and homework and  _ Rene _ ; oh my god, is that really a break?”

“Bells, no, sweet girl, don’t get upset, just— I’m—”

“You want me to leave you, is that it?” He hesitated. “Don’t you edit on me, Edward Cullen.”

The words settled into the chilling air before he spoke. “In an imperfectly perfect world? Yes.”

The comment stung. But since I had asked for honesty, I swallowed my impulsive anger. “Well, it’s not an imperfectly perfect world. So I guess that’s irrelevant.”

“Right.” But his lips twisted in disappointment. “I know.” Edward’s attention darted behind my shoulder, out the window. He snaked his hands to my shoulders. “For what it’s worth, in this world, that world, and every other world, I do want you. I want you—very much. More than I could—” Edward broke into a growl. “Let’s continue this conversation later, hm? Charlie’s coming home. I need to go.”

“When? When is later?”

“I—” Edward’s face flickered into a frown. “As early as tonight, if you’re free. At the very least, I can drop off that book. But my work isn’t finished; I’ll have to meet up with the family again. Just for a little bit. Call if you need me; I’ll be around. But I need to go.”

“Hang on.” My claws sunk into his damp sleeve; he hesitated. My heart hammered in my chest. “One sec. Please. Really, honestly, you do want—me? To be with me?” Some of the rigidity had returned since Rosalie’s comment, and though I didn’t mention it, the uncertainty in my words and the pain in my expression must’ve been enough to convey what I meant.

Whatever urgency he had dropped. Even as Charlie’s cruiser pulled into the driveway. “If you want me, I want you,” he said, touching my face, my neck. “And I do believe that is the closest we can get to our imperfectly perfect world.”

“So...I can get a kiss goodbye?”

“Ah. Is that what this is about?” Edward grinned, and his tenderness dissolved into his dazzling self. “You want a kiss goodbye?”

_ Damn him, making me blush.  _ “Always, please, if possible.”

“Alright. You’ve got yourself a deal.” Before my brain could slog towards some witty response, he twisted his hand through my hair and captured my lips with his, shocking me out of my universe. Desperate to anchor myself somewhere, I bit down on his lower lip and sucked. The taste of him made my legs give out underneath me; I stumbled back against the wall.

Our bodies met flush, but before I could dig my nails into the fabric of his clothes, he had disappeared, a ghost of his low chuckle left behind.

Curtains fluttered in his movements; the only sign that he had been standing next to me at all. My neck snapped all different directions to see where he could’ve possibly left, but found nothing.

Boy. Yeah. That was some goodbye.  _ Damn _ .

Charlie found me pressed against the wall of the kitchen, sunken, fingers covering my lips to keep the last of Edward’s serotonin from drifting into exhaustion. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah. Hey.” I turned the kitchen chair towards me and collapsed in it. 

Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer. “Everything okay?” he said, frown never dissipating. In another world where I had more energy, perhaps I’d be concerned about the way his eyes trailed the other chair that had been pulled out. Or the fact that the kitchen chair’s cushion was damp. Or the fact that there were wet footprints tracked all down the foyer, the living room, the kitchen, like someone had, oh, I don’t know, come through the front door and checked all the windows and sat down at the kitchen table. But for now, I could only nod, allowing my heavy eyelids to droop. 

“I could use some fructose. And a nap.” I said.

Charlie hung up his gun belt with no change in his expression. Tough crowd. “Alright. You just, y’know. Seem a little...blah.”

" Yeah. That’s the rumor.” He raised a brow. “Ang told me the same thing. Gave her a ride home.” Oh, wait a second. I snapped my fingers. “Hey. Uhh. She invited me to go camping with her and some people next weekend.”

“Where at?” Charlie opened the fridge, brushing past the tin-foiled pie to pull out a beer. He cracked it open.

“Dunno. Goat Rocks.”

“ _ Goat Rocks _ ?” Charlie’s face twisted like he hated the words put together. He didn’t even sip the foam bubbling over the lid of the can; it dribbled onto the floor. Charlie cursed, setting the can on the counter and cursing again when it sloshed out. He snatched the kitchen towel from the door of the oven and gruffed, bending down to wipe up the spill, “No. Nuh-uh. I don’t think so.”

_ “ _ What? _ ” _ I shot him a glare but he didn’t see me; he threw the towel on the counter and he walked away from me, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. I stumbled out of my chair and rounded the corner to the hallway, watching him hang up his coat, kicking off his boots. I shivered from my own goosebumps, though I wasn’t cold. “How come? Why not? What’s the problem?” 

“Who’re you going with?” he asked me, shoving his boots underneath the bench in the hallway. He rose and rounded the corner again, stopping at the wall to raise the temperature on the thermostat. Charlie glanced at me, attention catching on Edward’s flannel shirt. When his brows furrowed I blushed, nervously pulling the edges of Edward’s sleeves between my fingers. “Who’s driving you? You know your truck’s not making it there.”

This? Again? Was the truck abuse neverending? “Uh, okay, first off, The Thing is a beautiful piece of American craftsmanship. You could launch that baby into space and drive to Mars no problem. Don’t worry about the truck. Or the trip. Okay? It’s fine. Ang invited me; she says it’s just gonna be her and some La Push people—”

“No,” Charlie snapped, crossing into the kitchen. “No. Not Goat Rocks. No. Next weekend, you said? No way, no one’s going to Goat Rocks. I’m calling it in.” He picked the phone off the receiver. 

Rage boiled over. “What the  _ fuck _ —”

“Language!”

“Calling it in?! Are you kidding me?! Don’t call it in!” I launched myself at the wall phone and punched the tongue of the phone’s cradle to cut the dial tone. Charlie gripped the phone so tight, it squeaked under his grip. His face reddened. “People camp there all the time. What’s your problem?”

“My problem? A bunch of teenagers? No chaperones? No permit? No. I don’t think so.”

“C’mon, you know Ang; it’s not like we’re gonna do drugs and trash the place. She’s prob’ly got permits up the wazoo. Why’re you on my ass about this?”

“Bells, one more time with the language and you’re grounded; you got that? —No! I don’t wanna hear it! You know how dangerous Goat Rocks is; I don’t have to tell you. People have been disappearing there just over the past couple  _ weeks _ . How could I let you go? No, you kids don’t need to be hanging around there. Especially not overnight,” he said, hand over the receiver as if he’d already called someone. 

I gritted my teeth and ripped my hand away from the phone. “Fine. You don’t want me to go? I won’t go. Just don’t call it in,  _ please,  _ do  _ not  _ call it in _. _ ” Not to get all teenager on him or anything, but if Charlie tipped off the cops, everyone would know it was the Police Cheif’s daughter. It’d be humiliating. And I’d be alienated. Again. And where could I run off to, this time?

God. This is what I get for telling the cops anything. 

“I don’t know who’s gonna be there or anything; Ang just mentioned it to me in passing, that’s all. I can tell her to camp somewhere else, even. Do not call it in. Please.” I didn’t speak again until he slammed the phone back onto the cradle. Then my shoulders relaxed. Hoping to ease some of the tension, I dropped back in my seat. Sitting felt nice. Closing my eyes would feel nice. “Seriously, why’re you being so weird about all’ve it?”

Charlie took an angry swig of his beer and paced like he was flustered—was this really all about me? Because of Goat Rocks? “Because you know how dangerous it is and,” Charlie gruffed a sigh, hands finding the back of the chair that sat across from me, “and, y’know what, Bells? I don’t know if you’re going where you say you’re going. If you want the truth. Quite frankly, I don’t know what to believe from you lately.”

My eyes widened, heart raced, stomach dropped. “Believe? About what?”

Charlie put his hands on his hips, still holding the beer. He looked the most fatherest he’s ever been.  _ I need sleep _ . “About what? You know what. You still haven’t explained yourself from Monday.”

“ _ Monday _ ?” This again? Ugh. I had a feeling he was gonna pull this shit on me. “Is that what this’s about? What d’you want from me? I told you what happened.”

“A  _ pie _ shows up in the refrigerator and I know you didn't make it. I ask you about it and you say—”

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. I didn’t make it. So what?”

“When’d you get it?”

“Alice made it.” Charlie’s brows flicked up. “Look, I told you all this already. What d’you want me to say? She made me a pie. An apology pie. For skipping out on me last Saturday. She dropped it off Sunday. I dunno what the big deal is, I dunno why we’re still talking about this.”

“The ‘big deal’ is  _ when  _ she dropped it off. That’s what I’m asking you. You’re not telling me the truth. Sunday night I went to bed, early Monday morning I wake up and there’s a half-eaten pie—”

“Not  _ half _ -eaten—”

“—in the fridge.”

“— _ quarter _ -eaten, maybe.” 

“Did you know one of the Cullens broke into the food lab that same night?”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on,” Blood rushed and roared through my ears.  _ Fuck _ . “I don’t know anything about the food lab thing. Neither did Alice.”  _ Never bet against Alice _ . “That’s not fair. Totally unrelated.” 

“You’re saying Alice made the pie. Not anyone else.”

I started stumbling. “Well, yeah. Obviously.  _ Apology  _ pie. Alice was the one apologizing. And, y’know, she’s a night owl. So she made it late that night. She swung by—” _ after you fell asleep in front of the TV. _ “—late. That’s what happened. That’s all I know.”

Charlie’s eyebrows raised, furrowed. God, what  _ was  _ it with this guy? What, he’s got an enthusiasm for interrogation? Wanna get into the P.I. business? Seriously, shouldn’t he be out busting suburban soccer moms for swapping weed at soccer meets or something? “See, this is what I mean, this is what I was talking about. —No, just, stop, you don’t need to say anything; forget about the break-in. If you don't know anything, fine. But I asked you a simple question: Did you or did you not have friends over after I went to bed?”

My ears burned. “Not late-late.”

“Not late? What’s not late? I was up until midnight and went to bed at two; did she come over after that or not?” 

“Five minutes tops, honest. And it was just one friend. For the record. Not friends.” I blushed an even deeper red.

The deep frown lines and steady stare told me that he was analyzing my expression. Whatever excuse I had just uttered out was not good enough for the Chief of Police. But the blush may’ve tipped him on the wrong path. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his index and thumb. “Isabella. You and, and this Alice girl...”

Having had a similar conversation just last week that started off with that exact same tone, I could see the next several hundred miles of this conversation stretch out in front of me. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.” And then he gave me a look. My expression dissolved into horror. “ _ No, _ Dad, c’mon—”

“Are you and her—”

“Alice and I are  _ friends _ ,” I stressed, groaning and slamming my forehead on the edge of the table. I rubbed my eyes with my hands and sighed, pulled back up to face him. “What, you think I’m sleeping my way through the Cullen family?”

“Alice drops off a  _ pie _ in the middle of the night and I’m supposed to—”

“Friends make friends pies,” I yelled over him. And that ticked him off; when I glanced back, I could see it in the twitch in his brow and the vein popping in his forehead. “Why are we even arguing about this? It’s pie, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not about the pie! You run into Edwin twice and then try to hide it, Alice is coming over in the middle of the night, you try to hide that— And now you expect me to believe you’re going to Goat Rocks next weekend? ”

“Having a life separate from you doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

The vein in his forehead popped, his jawline hardened. “You’re my daughter. I need to know you’re safe. I need to know where you are, who you’re going to be with. You can’t lie to me; I’m a police chief.” 

“Yeah,” I snarked, “y’know what, you sure are acting like a cop.”

He erupted. “And you sure are acting like a child!”

The room dropped several degrees. 

The world shattered around me. Silence crushed me. I couldn't breathe. 

_ Child?  _ I blinked rapidly. 

“What?” 

Since when was my world spinning out of control? Yeah, I mean, maybe I wasn’t on my game right now, maybe I didn't have a lot of sleep in me or not twelve cups of coffee or maybe I was slowly going crazy thinking about lights and charcoal—

Child? You cook and clean and care for your mother for almost a decade and you’re a child? A child? You stay up all night with your best friend after she black outs drinking and you stop her from beating the shit out of her on-again off-again boyfriend when they break up and you peddle artwork and weed with her in tourist traps so you can make make next month's rent and that’s what you’re called? Child?  _ Child _ ?

Underdeveloped, immature, irrational child? Insolent, irresponsible, self-centered child? 

Me?

Charlie tossed his hands in the air like,  _ What do you want me to say? _ But he could tell he hit a nerve. 

“Are you…are you kidding me right now? Child?” My voice broke at the word. I mean...yeah. In some ways I was still a child. Obviously. I lacked experience. Had my blinders on. Et cetera. But...child?  _ Really _ ?

“You’re not a—” He grimaced. Uncomfortable at the thought of softening his blow, appeasing me,  _ the child _ . Uncomfortable at the thought of having to lie to _ the child _ . Lie. Like he had been telling the truth. “You wanna lie about where you’re going or who you’re going with? That’s not behavior I can trust. Okay? That’s all I’m saying. That’s not the behavior of a mature adult. If I can’t trust you to explain a pie without dodging questions, how could you expect me to trust you when you say you’re going to Goat Rocks? Honestly, tell me: what would you do in my situation? Would you let you go if you were me?”

“Child,” I echoed in a mutter. “I—”  _ can’t even believe I’m hearing this. _ Stupid, naive, innocent child. “Okay.” My anger lashed my insides with a heat I couldn’t sweat out. But my skin still goosebumped and the hairs on the back of my neck still stood and I couldn’t help but shudder like I was cold. Maybe there was no fire. I swallowed. Child. Doesn’t know how to pay bills or rent or debts, child. Can’t tell the difference between lies and truth, child. Can’t make her own decisions. Child. “Fine. No Goat Rocks. No Cullens. Fine. Okay. Fine. Just, fuckin, fine.” 

His tone had quieted. “I told you not to swear, Bella." Silence broke our conversation. Charlie's nostrils flared, but his tone never rose. "You’re grounded. One week.”

Nail in the coffin.

_ Grounded _ ? Is this man for real? Had I ever been grounded in my entire life? Had I ever heard the words “you’re grounded” come from Rene? What the fuck even  _ was  _ a grounding?

I broke into a laugh that bordered on insane. Who could dignify that with a response? “Grounded. Okay, Charlie. Okay. I’m going to bed. Wake me up when it’s over.”


	18. Chapter 14, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they compromise

That amused, musical lilt announced him like wind chimes at my bedroom window: “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

My breath caught in my throat. Shaking off the frisson, I hummed a hollow laugh. “I slept earlier,” I said, not looking up from my sketchbook. I tucked my legs underneath me in my desk chair.

“It’s a quarter-past midnight.”

Was it? “Slept through dinner. The night’s still young. What is time, anyway? ” I waved it away with blackened fingers. Once I’d blended the charcoal shading of my charcoal trees, I turned to him. The wooden chair squeaked when I hung an elbow over the back rest. Those dazzling, dewy goldenrod eyes were accompanied by a sunny smile that made me wonder if he himself had been dazzled, too. “Besides, I believe I’m waiting on a delivery.”

Edward sat outside the window, leaning in on his crossed arms. “Sorry I couldn’t drop it off earlier,” he said. I turned away to wipe my stained hands on a baby wipe. The fluttering of pages and a _thunk_ sounded behind me; he’d thrown the book on the bed. 

I heard no noise at the window, so I said, picking at the charcoal under my thumbnail, “Are you coming in or just passing through?”

Edward hummed an amused laugh. “Always a tough decision.”

“What, you don’t like me?” I teased, grabbing a wipe for my other hand.

“I like you too much. That's the problem. This is the room where my sanity goes to die.”

“I’ve heard acclimating yourself helps. Exposure therapy.” He laughed at that. “C’mon, you at least have to SparkNote the book for me,” I said, waving him inside. 

“I have to what for you?”

“Tell me about the book. Gimme the scoop.”

“Oh. You’ll love Lewis,” Edward said, his silky lull reverberating off the walls. My bed squeaked where he sat. “The prose is okay, but it’s a good read. It’s a satirical novel all about this guy who installs a totalitarian state in America.”

When I turned back to Edward, rubbing my hands on my thighs to dry them, my jaw dropped when my eyes caught the book. Was it even a book, with its ripped cover, broken spine, water-stained pages that curled into each other? The poor thing looked more like a victim of abuse. I crawled onto my bed next to where he sat, scooping the text into my hands. 

Meanwhile: “Of course, Stalinism isn’t fascism, but there are parallels you can draw for your _Animal Farm_ thesis, surely. —What?”

“Look at this,” I said, waving the book in my hand. “It’s beat to all hell; what’d you do to it?”

“I read it,” he said. When my disappointing frown grew graver, his eyes glittered. Silence. “Oh. That makes you mad, doesn’t it? That I rip the covers? — I dog-ear the pages too, you know. I crack the spines. I write in the margins. Librarians hate me. Almost as much as priests do.”

“Of course they do, you literary vandal. I’d hate you too if my job was to protect and cherish books.” That made him laugh. “You write in the margins? Really?”

Edward shrugged. “I have things to say.”

I flipped through the book, picking up tiny notes in his script that I couldn’t read. “What, like how you struggle with the concept of time? Put it in a treatise, Descartes.” I stretched over him to toss the book on the nightstand beside him. “Ugh. Remind me to never loan you a book.” Edward captured my hand in his and I melted under his touch, the warm spicy scent of him. We were so close, I was practically kissing him already, practically touching him already, practically drowning. Every nerve ending in my body sizzled.

“Isn’t it about time you put away that sharp tongue of yours and get some sleep?” he murmured, lips close enough to brush mine. But his lips grazed the crook of my jaw instead and his fingers traced the space between the collar of his flannel and my skin. Whatever desire I had to sleep fell away.

“I thought we were gonna talk.”

“Now?” 

“While I fall asleep? We can multitask.” At that, Edward chuckled. Before he could say something witty that was akin to No, I climbed into his lap and rested my head in the crook of his neck, breathing in cinnamon and cloves. He yielded to my touch and swallowed me into his arms. We relaxed in a sigh. Before he could pull away in response to my shudder, I latched my hands to him and nuzzled his neck. “I just wanna ask you something, that’s all. You gotta promise to be honest, though. No edits allowed.” My hot breath on his neck made him jolt and shift underneath me, reposition himself. If I didn’t have my ear pressed to his body, I wouldn’t be able to hear the low growl that erupted deep in his chest.

By the time he replied, his voice came in a low purr that made me shiver. “Why, am I in trouble?” When he saw my pained expression, he added a soft, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be honest.” He kissed me on my forehead.

I relaxed into him, relishing the feeling between us. Even as anxiety twisted my stomach into painful, nauseating knots. While I thought about how to ask my question, I traced lines down his arm with my thumbnail and soaked up the serotonin. His hands roamed to keep the cold from seeping in, but he always came back to the collar of his shirt, fingering it, kissing my hairline.

We sat in silence for who knew how long, swept away by the feeling of each other. 

Then he breathed in my ear, “I’m not a mindreader, you know.” I hiccuped a giggle but said nothing, just wriggled closer into him. Another low noise burst in his chest. This time, he swallowed it back. “Talk to me, love. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I played at the fabric of his shirt, nervous. A blush bloomed across my face over how to word it, but was too tired to come up with something more subtle. “How come you want me to go to Phoenix?” 

I didn't want to ask. Because I had an idea why. But I had to hear it from him.

“What, this again? Do you still think I don’t want you?” Edward flipped the hand he held and kissed my open palm, sending goosebumps up to my elbow. His lips ghosted a trail down my jaw; the static made me forget all of the last five minutes. When he seized my lips with his, something new laced this kiss, a sense of urgency that set my veins on fire. The second I shifted in his arms, he pulled away. “We are, er, quite limited in the ways in which I can... _prove_ that I want you, for the time being—”

“No,” I said through murky thoughts. Though I would’ve loved to have _that_ conversation, now wasn’t the time. I settled back into him. “I—Why’d you suggest going, I mean? Why’d you bring it up?”

“Ah.” His touch lightened; his shoulders relaxed. “I...thought it might be good for you to get away. To someplace...sunnier. Better.” Beat. “Safer.”

There. That word. 

Exhaustion had kept me from connecting the dots. But with his response, everything clicked. The Cullens’ absence from school, Edward’s nervous roaming and window-locking from earlier, his suggestion that I run away to Phoenix…

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” It felt like my stomach was leaking acid to the rest of my organs. Edward pretended not to notice my reaction but I curled away from him, sat up, locked my legs to my chest with my arms. Silence stretched before us like an empty highway. Every time I closed my eyes, green light flashed behind my lids. I rubbed the back of my neck to stave off the chill. “Was James in the area earlier?” 

Edward didn’t respond. 

Not until I said, “Unedit. Please. This is really important.”

And then he said, after a longer silence, “Yes.”

“Is that why you’ve been gone?” 

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you want me to go to Phoenix?” 

When he spoke, he sat up alongside me and placed a cool hand on my back. “You aren’t James’ target. We already have part of the coven on it. Everything’s fine. There’s no danger.” 

Then what was that, earlier today? When he walked to each window, looking out, locking them? What could the vampire see that I couldn’t? Obviously he wasn’t locking me in; I trusted him not to murder me in my own home.

So if he wasn't locking me in, then he was locking someone out. And not because it would stop intruders from breaking in.

It was a gesture. A symbol. For show.

And there wasn’t any danger?

“Is he still here? In the area?” He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. His hand fell away.

So, what? The Cullens were off fighting James and Edward had stayed behind? For me? 

“I just don’t see why we should expose you to any more danger than is necessary,” he said, tone cooling. “When you could simply go to Phoenix.”

The memory of those green lights needled the back of my brain. I swallowed. “And what if the danger follows?”

“It’s unlikely.”

Unlikely? How would he know? I scanned his eyes, narrowing my own. “Unlikely. But you’ve seen it. Haven’t you. Alice has seen it. It’s possible, isn’t it.” Beat. “Don’t edit.” 

“It’s possible,” he said like he was giving me the scoop on whether or not it would rain later tonight. “So is a meteor crashing into Earth. So is the chance that Rose will castrate Mr. Banner in three days’ time. ‘Possible’ isn’t ‘probable.’ You’ll be much safer in Phoenix. Really. I’ll be there to protect you from James, if it comes down to it. Whatever happens, I’ll be there. Always.” He placed a loving kiss on my cheek, and he reached around to caress my hand with his to get me to unlock my legs.

 _What_? “Protect me?” Eyes brightening, he nodded. My lips twisted. I dropped my hands to turn to him. “You’d drive twenty-some hours—”

“I’d run. It’s much faster.”

I inhaled. Exhaled. “Okay. You would _run_ ‘x’ number of hours, from Forks, Washington to Phoenix, Arizona, to protect me from James. How often would you be in Phoenix? And what about your family? Your allies? Don’t you have an obligation to them? What if they need you and you’re not there to help them?”

“I can do both.”

No. _No_. Now Edward was supposed to split his life in half to be my personal bodyguard? For how long? How was this going to work? He was just gonna forget about his friends and family and split his time between Forks and Phoenix? He would only come if there was an emergency? 

And what was I going to do while he ran there? Just sit there like a porcelain doll waiting for someone to break me or save me or solve all my problems?

What, was I suddenly Rene? Turning to mother for help when I couldn’t take care of myself? Running away to avoid facing my problems head on? Having my boyfriend on standby to rush in and save me so I wouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility for myself?

No. No way. I was better than that. I wasn't going to be her.

“Protecting me isn’t your responsibility,” I said, jaw hardening. I had to curb my voice to keep my pride from raising it. “Or anyone else’s. It’s mine.”

“This is a different sort of protection and a different sort of responsibility,” he said, eyes darkening. But his tone softened when he said, “There’s nothing wrong with needing help. I can help you. Alice and Jasper can help you. You won’t be alone or in danger, honest.”

 _Alice._ “Oh,” I mumbled, eyes drifting, chewing my lip. “Right. Help.”

There was _absolutely_ something wrong with needing help, if ‘help’ entailed putting others in danger. While Edward’s solution kept me out of the way and out of the loop at the expense of his safety (and mine), Alice, as she explained to me last week, had other ideas. 

Formal protection, she said. That, I was less interested in: asking for protection would merely split the responsibility amongst more people. 

But she had also mentioned sitting down with the doctor. That sounded promising. If I could talk to Dr. Cullen, could I seek my own answers? My own protection? My own means of safety? Seek the good future, at the very least?

If I could learn about a vampire’s weaknesses, or how to deter them, or how to escape them, or how to defend against one, I wouldn’t need to subject anyone else to task of “saving me” if I could avoid it.

“Don’t keep me locked out. Please. I have to know what you’re thinking; it’s driving me crazy. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

In both scenarios, whether I ran away to Phoenix or stayed in Forks, I was taking something and giving nothing in return. I was putting people—humans, my loved ones—in danger without knowing how to protect them if I had to. I was useless. I was weak. I was a problem. 

My fingers mindlessly picked at the corner of my afghan. “I think I’m going to take Alice’s advice,” I blurted out, still in thought. 

Edward startled. His jaw tightened. “You what?”

“I think I want to talk to Dr. Cullen.” 

Edward pursed his lips. “Really, Bells, there’s no reason why we should drag you deeper into our world. Not if we don’t have to. The Phoenix situation would only be temporary,” he soothed, brushing a lock of hair over my shoulder, kissing my hand, as if that would convince me. “I can come for you, after. It would just be for a little bit. Just until we handle things.”

“Handle things? Handle things how?” 

“We’re discussing many solutions. We’ve many plans.” We stared. I didn’t have to tell him that I demanded an explanation. Edward could read it on my face. He lowered his voice. “Jasper and I, we’re figuring things out. Carlisle insists on peace. By placing you under our protection, Alice’s solution uses you as a pawn to send a message to James. She calls it diplomacy; what is it to you?” I blinked at that last part. “We don't have to put you in harm’s way to send a message. Jasper and I, we can take care of it. We have a plan. And we’re bringing it to a vote. Tomorrow.”

‘Take care of’ sounded Italian-mob-ish. It made my stomach churn. “And what’s this plan of yours?”

Edward waved it away. “Oh, something quick, quiet, easy. We’ll lure the nomads to a place outside of our jurisdiction and dispose of them.” 

Dispose? “ _What_?” I said, jumping out of his grip. Edward placed a finger at his lips and I bit mine to curb my anger, for Charlie’s sake. “You’re going to—? What, you’re going to kill James? That’s your alternative? —No. What if you get hurt? What if something happens to you?”

“It doesn’t matter. —Hey, no, come now, it’ll be simple, really. We’ve got it all figured out,” he said in a lulling tone designed to placate me. Other humans would’ve bought it hook, line, and sinker: the way his fingertips stroked my arms, the way his eyes twinkled with a hint of hypnosis. But I had gotten close enough to Edward to know when he was dazzling his way out of something. I wrested from his grasp. “Everything’s going to be fine. Jasper and I are going to lead him away. Alice will do the killing. Jasper is...well-versed in military strategy,” his eyes darkened the way they did when he disapproved of something, “and Alice will certainly want her revenge. And with three psychics, the battle will be more than simple. You’ll see. I’m going to protect you. No matter what. Always.”

All this talk about death had my mind spiraling. Thank god he couldn’t read me. “And what about the Volturi? Aren’t they friends with James or something?”

“If we stick to just killing James, the Volturi won’t care enough to step in; it’s no problem.”

Silence. For a second, his features smoothened; I think he thought I was relieved. But I said: “Wait. If you _just_ kill James? As in, like, you could be killing more?”

The hesitancy returned. “Well. It’s possible. There’s— His mate may choose to get revenge, as mates do, of course, so there’s a small, slight chance we’ll have to kill his coven, in time. But even then—”

“Seriously?”

He stroked the veins in my wrist to calm me. “In even the worst-case scenario that Alice has seen, it all works out. Really. Even if we must kill the coven, even if the Volturi decides to step in, Jasper’s mate will come up from Mexico with her army and then we—”

“ _What_?” 

“Shh, sweet girl. You’ve woken Charlie.” 

My voice was an icy hiss that came through clenched teeth. “What, armies? So what, you’re going to kill James and go to _war_? No. No. No, no no—”

“Bells, please—”

“You’re not—”

“—it really won’t be as violent as all that, you—”

“Not for me. Stop. Line drawn. Impasse,” I said, stepping off the bed. Edward seemed shocked. “Look. It’s one thing if that’s your only option. But if you’re going to be all gallant about protecting me when I’m in danger, I— No. It’s a two-way street. Dynamics.”

“Dynamics?” He frowned, eyes storming over. “That is _not_ how it works.”

“Well it doesn’t just work however you want it to,” I snapped.

“Okay, what do you propose you’ll do? Hm? Join us on the front lines? Tell me.”

“No.” I had no idea how to kill a vampire. Or defend myself if one attacked. But could I learn? Would the doctor have answers for me? “I’m going with Alice’s plan,” I stated. “I want to talk to Carlisle. I want to know how I can help. Or at least how I can protect myself.”

“ _Help_? No, no way; you are not helping.”

“If your coven can solve this with diplomacy then—”

“Do you know what you’re saying? Alice calls it diplomacy, but do you want to know what it really is? If we formally place you under our protection, all we’re doing is encouraging James to make a move—or worse, take it to the Volturi. If James wasn’t going to target you before, he certainly would then. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, but he’d be falling right into Alice’s trap.”

He rose. “ _You_ are the trap,” he snapped, eyes darkening. “Do you understand? You are a pawn. James would fall for it, but what if Alice is wrong? Hm? You know her visions of you are spotty at best. What if things don’t go as planned? What if you—What if something happens to you? If James, if he harms you, if he— ” Edward couldn’t speak the word, his chest heaved, but it was there. In his eyes. In the way his words spilled out. In the hair-raising chill that settled in the air. “If something happened to you, I would have to kill him. You know that, don’t you? I’d have to. I’d have to destroy him. I’d have to track him down to the ends of the earth and rip him apart, I’d have to burn his entire world to the ground, his coven, his mate, his nest, everything, I would shred them all to _pieces_ for laying even a _finger_ on you, I would—” Edward couldn’t speak; his jaw had clenched too tight, hands balled into fists; all he could do was growl, vibrate with anger. “No.”

“Edward—”

“ _No_. Think about you. Forget about me, forget about the coven, forget about the allies. Which is better? The plan that risks your life? That puts you directly in harm’s way? Or a plan that’s completely divorced from you?”

“Alice clearly thinks that my asking for formal protection is the way to go,” I said.

“And how confident do you think she is?” he said. “Truly? She’s messed up your life so monumentally with her stupid visions—” Edward’s pocket began to vibrate “—honestly, can you tell me with a straight face that she knows what she’s doing?”

I gestured with my head to his pants. “I know that’s her calling,” I said. “I know I can trust her.”

“And what do I know? Nothing? You think I haven’t been inside Alice’s mind?” Edward glared at me, but when he dug the cellphone out of his pocket, he flipped it open and said, “You’re wrong. You’ve _been_ wrong, this whole time, you— My future means nothing to me; this isn’t about—” 

While Edward talked, my own phone started vibrating on the desk. I snatched it up.

“How sure are you of your plan?” I breathed into the other line. “Be honest.”

Alice’s cocky lull slowed my racing heart, even as Edward’s anger jolted the air around me. _“Put it this way: I knew Edward would come to talk you out of it, and I was confident enough not to interfere. He was so hell-bent on giving you a choice— well? Now you have choices. You’re making the decision. Per Edward’s request. You choose.”_

Relief washed over me at her command. “I want to talk to Carlisle,” I told Alice, glancing back at a glaring Edward who had crushed his own phone in his hand. “I want to help.”

 _"_ _We’ll make arrangements for the vote. You’ll hear from us tomorrow. Thanks so much, big brother.”_ He started towards me, but the line died before he could reach my phone.

We stared at each other. Anger pulsated around him, poisoned the pleasant buzz of energy between us. The crushed cellphone crumpled to bits in a painful squeak of snapping plastic. It almost made me call up Alice to change my mind. 

Almost. 

“You— have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he said, choking on his own anger. 

“What choice do I have?” I said. 

“The choice to not get yourself involved, like I’ve been telling you to do this whole time,” he said, forceful enough to have to hush his own tone. “The choice to walk away when I need you to.”

I ignored that. “Between mediation and violence, what do you think I’m gonna pick? I’m not going to sit around waiting to die while you go off slaying vampires and starting a war.”

“Even if it ensures your safety? Everyone’s safety?”

“At what cost? Your life? The lives of your family?”

“It’s a small price to pay.”

“No. ‘Small price’?” My brows wrinkled. “That’s not a ‘small price,’ Edward. Not to me. That’s a huge price. I care about you.” That startled the anger out of him. So I struck while the iron was hot: when I slinked back onto the foot of the bed, he didn’t move. “If you went off and got yourself killed, I’d be a wreck. I couldn’t go through life knowing that you— No. You can’t do that to me. If you died—” That same twisting sense of pain that had stopped Edward in his tracks moments earlier caught me; my breathing hitched. He blinked, brows furrowing. “If you went off and died, well, then _I’d_ have to kill James.”

“ _You_? —You couldn’t.”

“I could, and I would. I will.” Of course, I had no idea how I would. But the way I raised my chin and narrowed my eyes, I could least act convincing.

For all his compassion and care, Edward’s eyes sparkled at my talk of revenge. Even if he tried to hide it by looking away. “You wouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t die. You don’t have to worry.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Famous last words of every man who’s ever gone off to war,” I said. “You can’t do this for me. Okay? Please. Not for me. And it would really suck if I had to get involved in a war. I don’t think I’m cut out for vampire slaying.”

“If you really feel so strongly about— about the issue, if it really came down to it, I...we can compromise.” I softened, a small smile flickering onto my lips. _Finally, some reason._ “I can always arrange for a proxy to kill him on your behalf.” My expression dropped.

“And rob me of sweet vengeance? Hell no.” At that, he smiled. Once I knew I had hit something softer in him, I continued. “Everything will work out. Obviously in an imperfectly perfect world, I wouldn’t need your family or you to protect me. But let’s not rule it out, okay? We should weigh all the options if it means not starting a war.”

“Hm. You sound like Carlisle. You’ll get along swimmingly, I expect. Though I would hate for you to reinforce his pacifist beliefs.” Edward sat back down on the side of the bed, sighing, raking his fingers through his hair. He stared through the window. “Wonderful. Just great. The one human in the world I want to protect, Alice can’t see her, I can’t hear her, she doesn’t want help. This is just— fantastic. Do you know how frustrating you are?”

“My thoughts exactly."

“You’re a riot,” he muttered, but he softened at my laughter. “Maybe you should spend less energy cracking jokes and more on your self-preservation.”

“I have room for both,” I said with my lips to his ear, kissing him on the cheek, relaxing him further. “That’s why I’m asking for help. You’re lucky I’m doing that much. It’s a miracle I’m asking.”

He groaned, placing a hand over mine, the one stroking his cheek. “Getting involved with a coven of vampires and offering yourself up as bait is _not_ self-preservation,” he told me, nuzzling into my touch. His side-eye glance searched my face for something. “I feel like it goes without saying.”

“I feel like maybe you should relax,” I said. “I won’t agree to be bait. I’m just going to be informed, learn how to protect myself. We can even revisit the Phoenix thing once that's all out of the way. Okay?" The distrustful clouds in his eyes didn't dissipate, but he did untense his shoulders. "And anyway, what the hell do I need self-preservation for if you’re here to protect me?” I ran the nails of my free hand through his hair and Edward shuddered, a low growl erupting at the back of his throat. He turned his head to rest against mine, stroked my jaw, my neck. Our lips met, consumed in the sensation of heat on ice, skin on skin.

When his growl swelled to a murmur, he broke from me, swallowing. “I seem to recall you saying you didn’t want protection,” he said, trying to mask the struggle in his voice.

“I don’t,” I said, kissing him again. He pulled away from me. “Not if I can help it. I’m not thrilled to be making myself everyone else’s problem. But of course, y’know, if your family assigns you as my entourage, you won’t hear me complaining.” Another kiss, another pull away.

“Mmm.” His thumb brushed down the side of my neck, down the front seam of the flannel. “We might have to entrust you with someone who won’t cause you so much trouble.” And he bent down to kiss a trail down my throat, pulling me to him by the shirt.

“Alice?”

He nipped at the sensitive skin where my throat met my collarbone; I flinched, lower abdomen tightening. “ _Alice_? I can’t trust Alice to keep track of a minute, much less a person.” His lips hummed, staticky against my skin.

“Emmett?” I forced the name out of my mouth to hide my ragged breath.

He chuckled. “You pick the two biggest troublemakers of the family and you want me to believe you have self-preservation? Tell me you're being facetious.” I captured his lips in mine. Edward sighed against my mouth and melded himself to me, crushed me into him until I couldn’t breathe. He growled. “No. Forget it. It has to be me. No one else can get close; I won’t let them.” In a rush of oxytocin and uneven breathing, he pushed me back onto the bed with his kiss. Edward slid between my legs to climb over top of me, cool breath blowing across my neck, lips pecking the delicate skin there. My throbbing heartbeat pulsed electricity through us; we moved to its beat. “They’ll ruin your scent, so close. It has to be me. It has to be mine.” 

“Deal.” My nails dug into the fabric of his shirt; a few threads of mine tore under his hands.

Our lips met— “Bells, wait,” he uttered—and again, and again, deeper, rougher, but when I moved my hips against his, he shot out of my grasp, “Stop stop stop,” off the bed, “No,” gasping for air. “Don’t.” He threw his head out of my window, wood sill splintering under his hands. His whole body shuddered. I could’ve sworn he swore, but his voice slipped away in the wind. 

A beat of silence passed. All I could hear was his breathing. “You okay?”

His grip loosened; bits of wood fell onto the floor. “I’m going to have to start a running list of all the things in your bedroom that need fixing.”

I took a quick glance at the headboard he had marked up from last time. “Is it the blood?”

“It’s—” He sighed, drumming his fingers on the sill. “You and that damn shirt.”

I giggled, my toes curling as the residual pleasure drained away. I flexed my feet and turned on my side to watch his curved back rising, falling. “You really like that I’m wearing it, huh?” I said with a wolfish grin and breathless voice.

Edward never turned from his place; he spoke into the night. “A little too much, I’m afraid.” He slumped, shaking his head. “Christ. I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I’m drowning.”

“I’m happy to take it off.” _Or you can take it off for me._

That made him laugh. “No,” he moaned. “No, Bells. Bad. Nymph. Minx. Siren. Don’t you dare take anything off.” He took a large inhale and took a careful peek back at me. Once he saw I was still fully(ish) dressed, he moved inside, pressing his back against the wall. His head lolled by the window. Exhausted. “No. I’ll have to hunt. Again. I’m decimating the local wildlife population, you know.” 

My heart thudded. “Oh. Are you leaving?”

Edward’s dark eyes fluttered open. “For now. I’ll be in town. James isn’t a threat. But.” Edward looked down, swallowing. Shy. “It’s possible.”

“Oh. Well. If you’re gonna be in town, is there any chance you could come back?” I blurted out, dizzy from lack of sleep. _Wait, was this what I meant to ask earlier?_ At least I still had enough shame to flush a deep red. “It would—help. To have you around. To wake me up. Y’know. If I’m having a nightmare. And if James is around, I’d—rather have you close.” If he was human, I swear, he’d be blushing. But at this point, I was probably red enough for the both of us. “I just, I dunno. I could...keep the window open? If you wanna come back?”

This must’ve been a hallucination. This must’ve been some crazy breakdown my brain was having. Death by lack of oxygen. Death by sexual tension.

“Yes,” he breathed, "keep it open," wearing the same shocked expression. I pursed my lips to lick them. Nodded. He slipped out the window, poking his head back in to say, "I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up." Even with the glint of moonlight peeking out from clouds behind him, I could still see the way his eyes glittered; it pleased him, saying that last sentence.

“Goodbye kiss?” I reminded him in a weak voice akin to a suggestion. When I moved to the edge of the bed, he didn't move. He had that same sense of pleading that drew his brows together. So instead, I offered my hand.

From the windowsill, he murmured to me, “You and I are going to have to have a serious talk about self-preservation when I get home—er, back.” But he stroked my warm fingers with his icy thumb and planted his lips on my knuckles, and a flame of pleasure licked up my arm. Edward’s eyes followed the trail of my blush down the neckline of my half-buttoned flannel, snapped back to my face.

When I pulled on the sleeves to give my fingers something to pick at, the open collar fell off my right shoulder. I adjusted it. He stared. “Should I, uh— If the, uh, scent is too much, I can change.”

“Don’t.” And before he disappeared, he warned me in a rough voice: “You better be wearing my shirt when I get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooWEEE, i cannot WAIT to change the rating of this series to M


	19. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she fucks up

“...could listen to your heartbeat forever…”

I squirmed away from a spot of hazy dawn filtering through my window, burrowing myself deeper into my warm blanket. Whatever he said, I replied with, “Yeah.” A cool hand brushed the tangled hair from my face. 

“...waking up?”

“Mhm.” With the corner of my afghan in hand, I latched onto the arm of the man in bed with me. The muted rush of oxytocin didn’t help my consciousness.

“No you’re not.”

Bleary, blurring vision focused and unfocused and focused on Edward, resting against the headboard on the knife’s edge of the bed with one arm draped around me. The other steadied a Post-It-Note–pocked book against his chest: _Lady Chatterley's Lover._

“That’s my book,” I slurred. It was supposed to sound angry, like, hey you, punk, don’t let me catch you ripping the cover off this precious English classic. But my exhaustion dulled every emotion beyond apathy. One night of restful sleep could only get you so far.

“I can tell,” he said, flicking one of the Post-Its with his thumb. “You love talking into books as much as I do. Though I still can't understand why you'd waste an entire tree to do so when the margins work just as well.”

“Can’t ruin books,” I mumbled, murky unconsciousness threading through my brain. “They’re classics.”

“Yes, while we’re on the subject, can we talk about your library? _Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, Lady Chatterley's Lover..._ I’m noticing a theme.” When I groaned and turned away, Edward rolled over, enlacing himself around me and scooping me into him. My muscles jellified. As his lips grazed my ear in a whisper, his cool breath sent goosebumps tingling down the back of my neck. “‘She was to be content to weave a steady life with him, all one fabric, but perhaps brocaded with the occasional flower of an adventure. But how could she know what she would feel next year? How could one ever know? How could one say’ —Hey. Don’t fall asleep. I’m monologuing.”

“Fabulous. As always.”

“Facetious as always.” Edward hummed a sigh against me, fixing the afghan so it covered my shoulder and kept me from his cold. 

"Nuh uh." Another wave of sleep lapped at my consciousness. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Edward could feel the pleasant fuzzies filling my brain. 

"Yuh huh," he said, kissing the space behind my ear. We fell into a comfortable silence punctuated by a heartbeat that warmed us both. 

And in Edward’s arms, no one could hurt me, no nightmare could touch me, and I could finally, _finally_ , rest. Here.

We nestled deeper into each other's curves. Tangled. Melded. Whole. 

Whatever thoughts or feelings went unsaid, we could feel in spark and heat. 

***

“You can't fool me, Isabella," he breathed against my skin, planting a cold, soft kiss at the end of his sentence. "I can feel your heartbeat." And again.

"Mm. Five more minutes."

"No. You told me that five minutes ago." He pressed his cool lips to the back of my shoulder. "You make me too impatient for my own good." And again, and again. "Say you're up.” He kissed me again, this time on the nape of my neck. "Say it."

And again, and again, until I uttered a tired giggle, rubbing the goosebumps and the tingling out of my neck. “Hmn. I’m up, I'm up.”

Now his lips grazed my ear. “Finally. Counting the hours is torturous. Much worse than counting the years. I’m not sure how humans bear it.”

“I’unno, sleep, I guess. Drugs. _Lady Chatterley's Lover_.” I rubbed my face for the final time, blinking my way into the new day. I rolled onto my back, inches from his face. “Hello again.”

“And to you, lovely Bells. Good morning.” When I stretched and arched and scraped my fingernails through my hair, Edward's eyes traced the curves. 

“How're things? Have you been here long?” I settled back, draping my arm across his chest. 

He spoke into locks of my hair. “No. I came back around three-thirty after a coven meeting, sat at the chair reading until you needed me. Which was about, oh, quarter past seven or so.”

“So I did wake up?” Oh god, hopefully I wasn't screaming. Or talking. Those dreams were rare — once a month, max — but they never failed to embarrass me when Charlie would have to shake me awake.

“No, it wasn’t as bad as all that. You just needed someone to hold you, that’s all.” When his grip tightened, I snuggled against him. This time, I fought the returning fatigue. “You wouldn’t let me leave even after you fell back asleep."

Still slurring words, I said, “So you’re okay? The coven’s okay? No James?”

“No James,” said Edward. “Our coven is fine. I’ve never been better.” Without seeing his face, I couldn’t tell if he was hesitating or if he was breathing in the scent of me. “Speaking of the coven. We voted on a few things this morning.” 

Ice froze my veins. “Oh? What’d they have to say?” I said, nonchalant as I could.

Feeling my heartbeat quicken, Edward kissed my head and sighed into my hair, “Carlisle and the coven would like you to sit down with him and discuss your...unusual predicament. From there, I'm sure you'll be able to ask whatever burning question you think might help you.” Carlisle and the coven— did Edward consider himself in that group? Our argument last night implied an answer.

Bed springs squeaked under my shifting weight when I sat up. With my fingers brushing out the snarls in my hair, I analyzed his face, this careful mask of impassivity that didn't move under my gaze. “When can I do that?”

Judging by his eyebrows, I could guess what he had to say. “You still want to?” As in, _It’s not too late to pack your bags for Phoenix._

“Yes. Can I go today?” Hopefully my feigned confidence would deter him.

“I wish you would reconsider.”

Strands of my hair snapped when I yanked through it. “What's there to reconsider? I need to think about how I’m going to protect myself long-term.”

“Long-term?” he echoed, lips twisting in a grimace. “Bells, darling, I don’t think there’s any need for you to think long term. The James situation will be resolved imminently.”

 _And after?_ That sense of uncertainty boiled up into my throat. My lips twitched around the syllables; I couldn't speak them. Not to him. My comment implied that I would stick around, something I knew he fretted over. It implied that Edward was the danger, something that terrified him. “I thought we've already reached an impasse on this. There’s no sense in being underprepared.”

“Or overprepared.”

“You're not gonna talk me out of it, y'know.”

“Not until it’s too late, I’m sure.”

The angry sparks in our narrowed eyes said enough. There would be no convincing each other. “If I can come today, that would be preferable. Does that work?”

“Anytime you want,” he said, tone cooling, hand falling away from my back.

“Great.” I shifted. “I’m, uh — gonna need a human moment before I go. Hang on.”

He replied, “You don’t have to get ready now,” but I scrambled out of bed before he could get the words out. At the very least, I needed time to let the tension of our armistice air out.

While that happened, I could make myself decent: brush my hair, my teeth, wash my face, et cetera. But I’d have to skip the shower and the breakfast for now. 

In the end, my plan had been successful. By the time I returned, he had curled himself around the crumpled afghan, chest rising and falling. Though he had buried most of his face in the fabric, I could see a hint of a smile in his glittering cidery eyes. When they locked to mine, our magnetism lured me into the room.

“I’m going to steal this someday,” he warned, voice muffled by fabric.

“Not on my watch.”

“Watch if you’d like; I’ll still steal it.”

I melted. “Can you at least promise to give it back?”

He breathed in one more time. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

Just as I went to shake his hand, his snow-soft touch flipped mine, and he planted a kiss on the back of it. All the veins in my arm caught fire; we broke into low snickers at the feeling. In the time it took my stumbling heart to steady itself, I had slipped onto the bed and we had slid into each other’s arms, sealing our deal with a kiss. Where our bodies met, nerves sparked. Every time my heart beat against his chest, my blood carried static through my veins. He must’ve felt it too. Tucking myself into the crook of his neck, I could feel the near-imperceptible shudder of him at each beat.

We breathed. Listened. Felt.

“Bells." The tenderness of his voice struck the silence in a melodic hum that made my eyes close to take in the feeling of his voice vibrating in his chest. 

“Hm?” He never replied. A current of nervous energy made me fidget. “What?”

With a chaste kiss on the cheek, he disentangled himself from me, kissed me on the other cheek, and got up to face the window. I crawled to the edge of the bed to get closer to him. “If you did want to meet the family today, let me know what time. I’ll have to let them know when to expect you. I haven’t had the chance to replace my phone yet.” 

Whatever he was going to say, he chose the edit instead. It was obvious in his slight hesitation. When he opened the window to climb out, a cool breeze tumbled in. “Wait, the family? I’m not just sitting down with Carlisle?”

“You’ll be sitting down with Carlilse, but of course you’ll be introduced to the others. They’re dying to meet the human that Alice and I have obsessed over for months.” Halfway out the window, he turned to toss me a smirk. When he noticed my heart thudding fast and my wide eyes, he reached a hand back in. I moved to kneel at the window. Our fingers twisted together, and he pulled me towards the threshold, to him. “But of course, if you changed your mind about getting involved, I'd be happy to tell them you've politely declined.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. Confessing my actual worry— that the Cullens wouldn’t like me, that I'd have to be charming instead of my usual awkward self— would prompt teasing. I was sure of it. So I said, "Um, I'm sorta under the impression that you don't want me to meet them.”

He gave a snort. “Do I want you to be within close proximity of several bloodthirsty vampires, myself included? No. In fact, I find the whole idea asinine.” I rolled my eyes. In the next sentence, his voice became soft and shy. “But for all my insistence that you not get involved in our world, I do want you to meet them. They’re my family. They mean very much to me.” 

That was enough to soften my shoulders and my grip around him. Before he could tack on a 'but' and start into another lecture about how this was a bad idea, I said, “'Kay. Lemme shower and eat and coffee up and I’ll be out the door. It might take some maneuvering. I’ll have to tell Charlie—” what, the truth? That I was going out with Edward Cullen? At that thought, I slapped my forehead with my palm. “Oh. _Shit_.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing, I— I mean first off, I think I’m technically... grounded?” Edward swallowed back his laugh which only prompted my face to turn a redder shade of red. “Ugh. I know. Laugh it up. Pretty sure that was my reaction too. If it even happened.” Although he stroked my hair and kissed me on the cheek in sympathy, he broke into a snicker as soon as his lips touched mine. Which sorta undermined the sentiment. “He was just trying to strongman me, I think. But that’s a whole separate thing. I just remembered, I promised him that the next time I went anywhere with you, I’d—that you’d—” My face twisted in disgust. “Charlie’s kinda strict.”

Realization dawned on him in a sunny open-mouthed smile. “Bells. Am I meeting your father?”

I groaned. “Please, this really isn’t as glamorous as you think it is.”

“Not _glamorous_?” He chomped at the bit. “Do I wear a suit? What kind of flowers do you like? I should do something with my hair—”

“No. No suits, no flowers, please, for the love of god.” My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you gonna do with your hair?”

“Slick it back.” He winked, raking through it with his hand.

“Nonono. No. Do _not_ slick it back,” I laughed, digging into it with my own fingers to mess it back up. We became tangled, breathless at being so close. “No slicking. In fact, y’know what, just, just keep the hair as it is. Don’t do anything. Please. I’ve gotta get back on Charlie’s good side. I dunno how I’m gonna do that. But I don't think suits and flowers are the answer.”

“I could bring him a case of beer.”

“Edward, no. You're not technically twenty-one. You can’t legally buy beer.” While he rolled his eyes and muttered something about Prohibition 'ruining everything,' I chewed on my lower lip. If I really had been grounded and it wasn’t a hallucination, how the hell would I manage to get around Charlie? I couldn’t _not_ talk to Carlisle with everything starting to blow up. But I doubted Charlie would be thrilled that I was leaving the house, much less doing so to see Edward “Edwin” Cullen. “Uh. Hm. I think, maybe, I'm just gonna have to be vague and tell him I’m going out. For errands or something. I dunno.” 

“Oh. You, you don’t want me to meet him, then?”

“No, it’s not that.” Now that I had touched him once, I couldn’t stop that craving. I had to brush his cheek and neck with my thumb, with my lips. I had to make him shudder. Melt him down. “It’s just, y’know, Charlie and I, our relationship is weird right now, it’s—y’know, he’s not—” Seeing Edward’s face fall weakened me. “Look, if this was Rene, it’d be no problem. I’d walk downstairs with you right now. But Charlie, he’s— I don’t know. That stuff kinda freaks him out. He’s trying to do the ‘overprotective dad’ shtick and I don't know how to make it stop. It’s weirdly patriarchal.”

Charlie's strategy wasn't new, but my solution would have to be. A few of Rene's stupid boyfriends tried to bite the bullet and carve out a life that included their girlfriend's daughter. When that happened, they went one of three routes: cool dad, authoritative dad, or absent dad. Phil was a nice blend of one and three, the kind of 'dad' that wouldn't parent or get in the way of my running the household. Strict 'dads,' by contrast, gave me trouble. Always.

Edward's low, silky voice broke my inner monologue. “If you’re not ready, if you think we should get to know each other, of course I’m happy to wait. As long as you want. I’ve got all eternity.” 

Every time I thought I was over the dazzling, he came back to prove me wrong, make me blush, take my breath away. And every time I fell for it, his flashing smile got a little more haughty.

Luckily, I was starting to pick up a few tricks of my own.

My vampire loved drama, for instance.

“Edward Cullen," I told him, "I want you to meet my father.” And even though the smile was slow to creep over him, he glowed enough to make me think he’d be blushing. “I want you to meet my family. You’re so fun, so interesting, so intelligent, so—cute. Of course I want Charlie to meet you. He just has to get used to the idea of me having a...a, um…” A rosy glow stole across my cheeks, lit up Edward’s eyes. “A... person.”

“A person,” he mused with a low, lilting chuckle. His languid touch— drifting down the the side of my arm, down the veins of my wrist, to my fingers— short circuited my brain. Dazzled me. Again. Damn him. “And that’s how’d you introduce me to your father, hm? As your person?”

My insides burned, breathing hitched. “I just, I mean, I didn’t know...how you’d want me to introduce you. Is all.”

He waved it away, romanticism dissolving into something more somber, but his tone remained lighthearted. “That’s not for me to decide. Describe my place in your life however you like; I’ll be happy to play the role. I can be a person.”

In a shy voice, I played with the fabric of his shirt while I spoke. “C’mon, you won’t tell me what you think? Unedit?” In his vampire world, or in his twentieth-century world, what was I to him? What would he call me? His singer? _tua cantante_? his 'betrothed'?

His eyes warned me. “No unedit. You know my thoughts on the matter. You must walk willingly into this, Bells. I cannot show you the way or guide your hand. You must choose.”

“You sound all spooky like that.”

“I am naturally spooky.”

A beat passed. “Would you, maybe, be my boyfriend?” I offered.

He laughed. “Boyfriend?” The word practically sang. “I can be a boy friend. Your boyfriend.” A smile lit up his face again, his eyes trailed my lips. “And I suppose that would make you my girlfriend.” He cackled, gripping the sill and ducking his head.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing."

"Edit."

An air of seriousness washed over his smile, set his expression back to that impassive mask. He ignored me. “Now, you do have every right to assert your independence. God knows you’re stubborn enough to do so without my even stating it. But you should introduce me. You’re still living under Charlie’s roof. Independence or no, you're subject to his requests. And besides being the Chief of Police, your father should know the man—or, the boy friend— who’s going steady with his daughter. It’s custom.”

I looked away and drummed my fingers on his arm. “I know. He will know,” I said. “He’ll know. I'll tell him. Just—I have to lay down the groundwork. Tell him I’m going to hang out with you, set the boundary, y’know, ‘You can meet him because I respect you, but you don’t get to decide who I date, blah blah blah.’ And I’ll introduce you."

"Today?"

"I— sure." God, what was I getting myself into? How did he get me to agree to this? "I just...I don’t want him to think he's got a say in the matter, or, y'know, that he's justified in ordering me around. It's sets a bad precedent. Plus, he thinks I’m sleeping with Alice right now. So I'll probably have to un-convince him of that.” _The uphill battle grows steeper._ I rolled my eyes.

That bewildered him; a spark of something hit his face when he pursed his lips. Disappointment? Jealousy? “Alice? Why Alice?”

“Y'know the pie Emmett made? I told Charlie that Alice made it and brought it over for me, and he freaked out.”

“Oh.” He blinked. That alarmed edge fell away from his voice, but a trace of curiosity remained. “I see. So making pies, then, is that...is that the custom now? For same-sex relationships?”

“No. It’s not about the pie." I sighed, reliving the shaky, blurry memory of my and Charlie's fight. "It’s the fact that it was late and I snuck her into the house after he went to sleep. I guess that means I’m having sex with her.”

“If it’s easier to tell him you’re in a relationship with Alice, I don’t mind.”

I laughed. “It’s a tempting offer.” At least then I wouldn’t have to have a painful conversation with Charlie about birth control. Big plus. “But it’d be nice if you could use the front door once in a while. So I guess that means you'll have to meet him.”

He softened at that. “I personally prefer the bedroom window, but I do get your point,” he murmured, kissing my cheek and stealing my oxygen with him. “Do what you need to do. I’m going to go change.”

“Please, no suit,” I gasped.

“No suit,” he said against my lips. “I’ll swing by and pick you up?” 

“Yeah. Gimme, like thirty, forty-five minutes?”

“And not a second more,” he said. “Minutes are even worse than hours, my god. I can't understand how you live this way.” 

“One day at a time,” I said with a kiss.

***

“Mornin’.” Relief washed over me at the sight of Charlie; or, rather, lack thereof. The pages of Charlie’s sagging newspaper fluttered hello at me from the kitchen table while he continued to read the sports section. In angry, black print, the front page news screamed: _2 Dead, 1 Missing Near Tacoma._ My heart sunk. 

“Hey. Morning.” Shaking out my wet hair, I set my sketchbook on the kitchen table and poured myself a cup of tepid coffee. 

Charlie spoke from behind the paper. “You sound chipper. Chipper-er.”

“I actually slept.” Still, I gulped down my cup of coffee, hands shaking. If Charlie saw me all dressed, he’d knew something was up. I’d have to bring it up before he saw me.

_Be honest with him. Just be honest._

“No kidding, huh?”

“I know. Alert the press.” Maybe a little banter would make him more manageable. How the hell was I going to navigate this? I gulped more coffee. “So? What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Gotta pay a visit today, potential witness to the missing person’s case from a few weeks ago. Now there's a new one in Tacoma." His index finger tapped the front page, near the headline. "Not sure how to handle it. Might have to leave a little early before I head to the station.”

“Sounds good. There’s leftover soup in the fridge you can take.” _Get it over with, Swan; rip the Band-Aid off:_ “I won’t be around anyways, so I can make something cold for us to eat whenever. Maybe a quinoa salad, whaddya think?”

When the paper hit the table, I knew I had fucked up. 

The more he took me in—the washed hair, dewy, blushing face, buttoned navy blouse and caramel a-line skirt—the deeper his frown grew. “Won’t be around? Bells, no. You’re grounded.”

Honestly, I had hoped the grounding was something I’d hallucinated from yesterday. Guess not. “Grounded? I’ve got errands to run. Groceries to pick up.” Which, y’know, was true; it was Saturday, after all. “Can we revisit this whole thing? It’s a little over-the-top, doncha think?”

Charlie clenched and unclenched his jaw, his stare firm. Really should’ve calculated my response better. “If I tell you not to do something and you disobey me, yes, you’re grounded. That’s how it works. Your actions have consequences; you have to understand that.”

“ _That’s_ the lesson? I’m already aware that actions have consequences.” _How do you think I ended up here?_ I tapped my fingernails impatiently at my half-empty mug. My eyes narrowed at his. “Well can you at least give a timeline for when you think I’ll have learned my lesson? ”

Newspaper crinkled as he folded the pages up. “Don’t get smart.”

“Smart? How am I being smart? Just seems like a pretty trivial thing to ground me over if all you’re trying to do is teach me a lesson I already learned.” _And how would you know what lessons I’ve learned and what I haven’t?_ “We still need groceries and I still need to buy a new mop and we've been out of laundry detergent since last Sunday, so, I mean, what’re you trying to prove here? Things still need to get done.”

He smacked the folded newspaper on the kitchen table. “I’m not proving anything, Bells. This isn’t some gotcha. I have a responsibility to look after you. How am I supposed to make sure you’re safe if you’re not going to listen to me? What am I supposed to tell Rene if you get hurt again?”

I glanced at my phone; several minutes until Edward was supposed to show up. _Please get here quick so I can introduce you, please please please_ “You won’t have to tell her anything. I’m safe. I don’t see what the big deal is,” I told him, walking away from him and going to the hallway.

In the kitchen, Charlie's chair scraped across the laminated kitchen floor. When his face popped around the corner and saw me lift my purse from the hook, he frowned. He wheeled into the hallway. “Look, I know this is probably different than how your mom handled things. But you _need_ to tell me what you’re doing. I need to know where you are, who you’re with, what you’re— What are you putting your shoes on for? Hey. Isabella Marie, are you listening to me?”

I shoved my phone into the outside pocket, not looking at him. “I am listening. I'm going over to the Cullens and then—”

“You’re not going anywhere. You tell me your plans _before_ you make them, not after.”

At this rate, I'd never get to the introductions. I stuffed my feet into my scuffed oxfords. “Okay, I dunno what you think this is. Obviously you pictured things to be different than this, or you musta pictured me different, or _something_. I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I’ve had enough experience with Rene’s wannabe-dad boyfriends to know when a guy’s pulling a powertrip on me, alright? So lemme stop you right there. —No. Stop,” I interrupted, standing. “Whatever you're gonna say, don't. You don’t get to play dad just because Rene didn’t wanna play mom anymore.”

A storm brewed in Charlie's angry eyes. “‘Play dad’?” Charlie’s face scrunched up. His voice rose with every sentence. “Play dad, is that what you think I do? You think raising a child is some game to me?”

“You’re not ‘raising a child.’ She's raised,” I snapped.

“That won’t ever stop me from worrying about you; I will _always_ be your father.”

“Father?” My nails dug into the purse strap. I swallowed fire but couldn’t stop my eyes from flashing rage. “Look. I get what you’re trying to do. I’m grateful to be here. I like you, I like hanging out with you. But I’m eighteen. I don’t need the strict father getup. I don’t need you to tell me who I can see and where I can go.”

“Apparently you do, if this is how you’re gonna act. You want me to treat you like an adult but you're lying and sneaking around like a—”

“Sneaking around?! Because _ugh_ —y’know why? Because you and Rene, you do the same thing: you just, just, cycle through bouts of parenting like it’s something to do on the weekends. Yeah. And guess who ends up paying for it in the end? Guess who always has to clean up after it’s over?!”

He erupted. “If that’s what you think this is, then why don’t you just—”

“ _What_ is your deal? What, you want me to leave?! Tell me to leave. Tell me what you want from me!”

“Tell the truth! Listen to me when I tell you to do something!” 

“Why? Why should I? You think I’m gonna sit here and take a lecture from Mr. ‘Haven’t Seen My Daughter in a Decade’ about how I’m too young to make my own choices? For real? I’ve _been_ making choices; Rene’s no picnic, in case you forgot. Just because you left me with her—”

“Left you? I _left you?_ ” His face flickered in pain, in anger. It hurt. I couldn't look at it. I yanked on my laces and tied them up. “I don't know what sort've shit your mother's been spewing, but—"

"Don't talk about her like that."

"—you know what? Fine. Yeah. You’re right. I never should’ve ‘left you’ with Rene. Is that what you want me to say? Is that what this is about? What did you want me to do? You’ve had bad experiences here and she threatened full custody so I thought—”

I exploded. “What, that you could spare me whatever ‘bad memories’—”

“—at least get you on the holidays, but you never wanted—”

“—by leaving me with someone who can’t even boil water without setting off the fire alarm?”

“—always would say you didn’t want to come back, what did you want me to do?!”

“Really? Someone who _still_ can’t file her own fuckin taxes?”

“—cut me out of everything! She cut me out of birthdays, never told me what you doing or where you were moving and I _knew_ she was doing it because she didn’t trust—”

“Someone who doesn’t understand the mechanics of moving but who’ll wake her daughter up in the middle of the night to tell her she’s got fourteen days to figure out how to pack and ship furniture cross-country?”

“—just trying to be your father!”

“You're only trying because you fucked up!” I said. Silence raged. As the dust settled into an uncomfortable tension, guilt washed over me. At first, nothing came out when I opened my mouth. How do you soften a punch like that? “I mean, I've fucked up too. So does everyone. Maybe things could’ve been different if we hadn’t. I dunno. But you...you can’t fix whatever you think is wrong with me by kicking it into hyperdrive with the parenting thing. Okay? You just—you can’t. So don’t, Charlie. It’s not working.” 

Like a deer caught in lights, Charlie froze, wide-eyed. I couldn’t look at his face as I grabbed my coat and my bag. The last sentence tumbled around my empty head.

 _This is what Rene had told him when she left him for good_ , I realized in a wave of nausea. She had told me the story once after I'd pestered her about it for weeks. Or, rather, she had ranted about it after a bad breakup and a strong vintage of pinot left her, for once, circumspect: _“I said, 'Charlie, it’s not working.' Why?"  
_

And I, his daughter, had just said it. Me. To his face.

I couldn’t take it back now. Couldn’t even look at him. Much less introduce him to my boyfriend.

“Just—" _just go; don't make it worse._ "I— I can’t talk to you right now. Sorry. Give me some space, okay? I’m going out. I’ll be at the Cullens’. With Edward. See you later.” Pause. “I’m sorry.” 

He said nothing, not even my name, as I spun to slam the door beside me. For a second I thought he’d stomp down the hall and rip open the door and yell at me to get the fuck back inside. No movement could be heard inside the house. No sound.

He let me go. Without a word.

So I pressed my forehead on the cool door, squeezed the doorknob. Waited. Sighed. Swore under my breath. _Idiot, Bells, you’re such a fuckin’ idiot._

I glanced at my phone. Forty-five minutes on the money. God, I hoped he was running late.

Nope.

True to his word, when I turned around, there stood Edward Cullen at the bottom of the porch. Dressed in redwood-brown slacks with suspenders and a button-up shirt, he had one hand stuffed in his pocket up to his wristwatch and the other carrying a single lily. 

The only thing that didn’t match was his heartbroken expression.


	20. Chapter 16, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they meet (everyone)

On the middle step, I stopped to breathe it all in: both the fact that he was caricature of human perfection against even the cloudiest, shittiest of days, and the fact that he could look that good while looking so lost and awkward.

Edward Cullen. My new boyfriend. My super-hearing vampire boyfriend who probably heard all of that conversation.

“Uh. Alice said things would be—different.” My feet hit the bottom step, the ground. He still held out the flower. “She also said you prefer roses to lilies.”

I faked a small smile. Alice had decidedly been wrong, then. “So naturally, you chose the lilies.” Plucking it from his hands, I closed my eyes to breathe in the delicate smell.

“I’m not listening to Alice anymore. Lilies seem like the kind of flower you’d be more likely to draw,” he said. I perked at that, nodding. "Esme let me take one from her greenhouse.”

We stopped in front of the car door. “Thank you, Edward. I appreciate it.” My hand stroked the back of his neck and I got up on my tiptoes to kiss him, but pulled back when my fingers felt oily. “Is that gel?”

“Also Esme,” said Edward, throwing up his hands, car keys jangling. Edward opened the passenger door for me and I clambered inside. “She said messy-casual was in? I don’t know what that means; maybe you do.”

I twisted the stem of the lily in my hands as Edward shut his own door. Classical music plinked softly over the stereo after the engine roared to life. “Your hair isn’t messy-casual enough already?”

“I asked. Too much mess, not enough casual. My escape was unsuccessful.” He paused, running his hand over the back of his neck. We spun out of the driveway, leaving Charlie behind us.

I tried to hide my melancholy in a joke. _Push it away._ “So, 'messy-casual' hair. No suit, but you’re business casual. No flowers, but you brought me a flower.”

His grin became more genuine than sympathetic. He winked at me when he said, “I also have a six pack in the trunk, just in case.”

“You do not.”

“I figured I could take some liberties and still toe the line.”

“I expect nothing less from you.” I laughed humorlessly, rubbing my forehead. He stayed silent. In the beat of silence that passed between us, the tension grew thick. And I couldn’t help the guilt from stealing my breath. “I’m sorry. That I didn’t get around to introducing you.”

“Please,” he murmured, "I’m only sorry that I…”

What, had to sit around and hear our argument? That he couldn’t step in and save me from being an idiot?

Whatever his answer was, edit or unedit, I never heard it.

We drove in silence for a minute. I didn’t speak again until we had turned from the block. “I know I screwed up.”

Edward said nothing. Didn’t look at me.

I shouldn’t have gotten angry at him. I shouldn’t’ve said all that awful stuff to him. It was…so stupid. Obviously. “I don’t know what happened.”

Except I did. I was losing it. I wasn't me anymore.

“You…the situation got the best of you,” he said, choosing his words.

_What’s happened to me?_

When I opened my mouth, my throat tightened, cutting off my oxygen. Edward cast me a concerned glance, studying my features as I swallowed back whatever urge I had to cry.

Fights between Rene and I broke out from time to time. Those always seemed tame in comparison: I was always calm, rational; but this, “I mean… you, you were right, obviously, I’m still living under his roof, he’s still my…” My lips pursed, stomach twisted. I never got anything to eat, but I still felt sick. I swallowed again.

All this time I had thought about Charlie in the context of him entering my life. I forgot that even though my pictures were littered across the living room mantle, and even though he had kept my room exactly the way it was…I was entering his life, too. But he was excited to have me in his life, and I…

God. I fucked up. I stared at my hands.“I’m gonna have to catch him before he goes to work. So I can apologize in person. If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it’s okay with me.” Beat. “Are you okay?”

No. No, no, of course not, he could hear my racing heart, he could see my struggle, what the hell was I doing here? How did I become this? Just last year, I was acing my AP Bio test, holding down a part-time job, managing a household, and entering in art competitions to collect scholarships for college. What happened? Why is it that as soon as Rene started getting her life together, mine fell apart?

Who knows. Maybe it wasn’t ever put together.

Maybe I was only put together in comparison to her.

“Yes.”

Edward gripped the steering wheel, eyes flicking back and forth. We idled at a stop sign. Without the hum of a running engine, I could feel how my breathing had shallowed. His right hand slid off the wheel and he took mine.

“You’re editing.”

“Yeah.” It was only after he turned on the road to get out of town that I spoke. In a timid voice that human ears wouldn’t catch, I asked, “So did…did you hear him? Charlie?”

His face remained even. “I only caught the last few seconds of your conversation.”

“His thoughts, I mean?”

“Somewhat.” Gripping the steering wheel, he grimaced. “I’m not sure. Charlie’s thoughts are cloudy at best. Seems the Swans have a rich tradition of short-circuiting psychics.” His flash of a weak smile made it seem like he meant it as a joke. But he looked none to pleased to say it.

“You did hear something, though. Right?”

We passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, slipping into deeper woods. Houses flashing past us became blips in the side windows, growing farther apart, getting bigger. They seemed to roam the forest like ghosts when we flashed past them.

“I don’t know how helpful it’ll be to you." My face must have looked desperate. "But. I saw—well, _you_ , I assume. As a child. A memory of you. You were crying in lamplight. You had dirt on your hands.” A beat passed between us where he watched my face and shoulders fall. “That was all I could get.”

And then the blips of houses ended altogether, driving through misty forest.

My gaze dropped to my clean hands. I had made sure to scrub off every speck of charcoal. I had made sure to block out the sleep deprivation with caffeine. I had made sure to swallow back the anxiety of my every day, the anxiety of James, and the anxiety of… “Sometimes I feel like…” _something’s not right._ “Charlie had said that I…”

What’s got me shaken? What’s got me worried? What’s got me waking up screaming in the middle of the at night?

“Would you like a minute?” Even as he said it, the car slowed.

“No.”

“Don’t edit, Bells.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Your heart.”

“I’m fine. Onto the next thing. What happened, happened. I’ll face the consequences. But, it—whatever happened, it— it doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant. I’m going to meet your family. No sense in—” _completely freaking out._ “Everything’s gonna be fine. Obviously. I’ll be fine.”

But instead of speeding up to his usual pace, the car slowed to a crawl on the shoulder of the road, a space where the greenery peeled away just long enough to fit a car or two. He threw on the emergency brake and cut the engine.

Heavy silence clawed at my patience, tore at my fraying nerves. I wanted him to speak. I had to hear his voice. I wanted him to talk. I wanted sound— when had he shut the music off?— I wanted shelter from—

Edward’s car door slammed. When I glanced over, the driver’s seat was empty. The passenger door opened, and there he stood, holding it open, like always. My breath caught.

“I must admit to you, Miss Bells Swan,” he said, standing at the door like a footman, “you’re going to drive me certifiably insane. Not being able to read your thoughts— _your_ thoughts— is so— God, it sets my teeth on edge, sometimes.” Exhale. “But I can still feel your heartbeat and I can still see your face. Please step out of the car. You need a minute.”

I hesitated at the hand he had offered me. As the cool air seeped in and my heart began to slow, I realized my hands had been shaking. That I was shaking. That maybe I could use a minute.

I scrambled out of my seatbelt and took his offered hand.

At least the cold could ground me. At least the fresh rain could clear my senses. At least I was out in the open now, instead of crushed into a car.

My heartbeat still raced, blood roared through my ears, set my cheeks aflame. Heaving, I stumbled to the hairline of the forest, pressing my palm to one of the slimy, ancient trees. Still sucking in air. _Something’s not right, it’s not right._

I had played through these forests as a I kid. I set traps in these forests. I played games in these forests. I dreamt about these forests every night. Sharp needles, acrid pines, sticky sap. Drooping ferns, spongy dirt, animal droppings. Familiar, nostalgic. Unknown. Terrifying.

_I don’t get it. I don’t get this. What am I not getting?_

Edward placed a cool hand on my back.

When the cold set in, a pleasurable streak of fission tore up my spine. My first gasp of an inhale rushed clean oxygen into my lungs. It shuddered my heart into a steady beat. It pricked tears into my eyes.

Before they could spill down my cheeks, I whipped around and crushed him into a hug, squeezing my eyes shut.

And he stroked my head and spoke into my hair, and with every word, I anchored myself further to reality. This moment. Here. “You’re adjusting to a new life, that’s all. It could simply be a matter of Charlie figuring out how best to parent you. What you need in a parent.”

 _Oh, is this what we were talking about?_ With my eyes squeezed shut, I swallowed and nodded. I never loosened my grip. Not until I caught my breath. Not until our energy dulled into a sense of safety. Not until I could be sure of his words. Not until I could be sure that I wouldn’t change the subject on him. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s it.”

That’s why I always felt uncertain here. That’s why I’ve felt like an alien in a stranger’s body. That’s why this place freaked me out. It was just a big change. A big, scary, last-minute change. And I was still dealing with the transition.

That’s all. That’s all it was. A change. A new chapter.

I rubbed the back of my neck. Though I pulled away to face him, Edward’s grip on me only tightened. My anchor to the known universe. “He and Rene do try their best, y’know,” I said, brows scrunched up. “They’re great people. I‘m grateful. Really. It’s just, I just… I don’t know yet if Charlie is…” My lips twisted; I exhaled. “Rene said to call him Dad. She said he…that that’s who he is. But I—how can you know when she’s right? Y’know? How—how am I supposed to know if he’s Charlie or Dad?” I dropped my gaze to my feet, watching them fidget. “Y’know what I mean?”

Edward gave a short, humorless laugh. His thumb stroked my cheek. “Believe it or not, I do. To an extent,” he added, noting my curious expression. “Carlisle did the same to me, in the beginning. After I had first been changed.”

My eyes widened. “Really?” Though I still hadn’t caught managed to catch my breath, the distraction helped. “So… so he turned you and then tried being your _dad_?” My heartbeat plodded more evenly now, and I could see it in the way he dropped his shoulders. 

Edward smirked. Without a word, he collected me into his arms and carried me into the forest, his movements swallowed by silence around us. I breathed deep. Every muscle in my body loosened, save for my hands gripped to his shirt. “Sort of. In the vampire world, it’s called having a sire. There’s always a biological connection that exists between you and whoever changed you—that’s the nature of things. But if you and your creator develop a bond, traditionally speaking, they’re considered your sire. Though that sort of relationship has fallen out of favor in the last century. We wouldn’t describe each other in that manner anymore.”

We stopped at a moss-speckled log. While he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on the wood, I said, “Why not?” We sat on his coat. I took to the upper-half of the log, my foot dangling down. On the lower slant of the fallen tree, Edward kept me steadied with one hand on my calf.

“The term is no longer used. It’s not a common relationship. Vampires try not to make new vampires, and if they do, they certainly don’t stick around to bond with the newborn. Most newborns end up dying anyway, either by the Volturi or by their sire. It’s really not worth the risk.”

“So, why’d Carlisle bother?” I said, remembering that time in the car when we were driving back from the meadow. “Was it really just cuz he was lonely?”

Edward nodded. “He was lonely. And I was the closest he would ever get to having a son. It was not his finest hour, ethically speaking.”

“But you said it was what you wanted.” 

His thumb drew circles on my bare calf; I leaned into him. “That’s true. Although I had no earthly idea what this life entailed, I did ask for it. But I didn’t ask him to fill a role in my life, and he did that regardless. He mentored me as a newborn, parented me as a child. Of course, coming from a home with an absent father, and being twenty years old, it drove me up the wall. Reading his mind made it ten times worse.”

I laughed. “I could imagine. I’d hate to hear Charlie’s thoughts.”

“But. If you’ll allow me to speak candidly...”

And I didn’t even need to ask for an unedit? “Always.”

Edward’s eyes softened like melting butter. “From what you’ve told me about your mother and your father, you didn’t particularly need a parent in the traditional sense, yes? You’re legally an adult. You’re a few months away from graduation. You’ve cultivated the, shall we say, technical skills of adulthood: paying bills, finding and renting apartments, domestic duties. Making money. You have a good head on your shoulders. When you’re not getting yourself into trouble.” Then he smirked to himself. “Though sadly, that is frequent.”

“Is that the candid part?”

“No. The candid part is that you are technically an adult, and as such, no one technically needs to step into a parenting role. No one had to offer you a place to stay, fold you into their circle of loved ones, spend quality time watching movies or going out shooting with you. But someone did. They chose to. And in the moment when Rene needed to fill that parent role, when she could have been that guiding force for you, she was not.” Watching how my expression changed, Edward kissed the back of my hand.

“But,” I protested, “but, but she...she did step up. We had good times. I mean, I _was_ her circle of loved ones. We spent a lot of time together. And she’s offered, y’know, to let me stay with her and Phil and his kid when they get a place.”

 _“But if you’re coming, you can’t be acting like you were, Bella,”_ she had told me in our last conversation. _“You need to set a good example. You have a younger step-brother, now.”_

Yeah. Step-brother. My second child, more like.

_Why do you keep defending her?_

I didn’t know how Edward could read my mind when he couldn't read my mind. But the side-eye and response he gave said it all: “Darling.”

I heaved a heavy exhale and my eyes drifted right to watch the ferns sway around us. Another rolling wave of sweet, fresh air passed by. “I know. It’s not the same.”

“Parenthood is more than love and fun. Rene chooses the sunny spots of parenting whenever possible. Understandably so—it’s a backbreaking, thankless job. But Charlie chooses the whole. He chose the near-impossible task of guiding a young adult to maturity. What’s more, he chose it when he didn’t have to. And while, granted, I can’t read much of him, I can guarantee you that for all of his overprotective tendencies, he does love you and care for you. Very much.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I know.” Acid churned in my stomach. Maybe Edward could feel my guilt — he squeezed my hand. “I know. I—I’ll make it up to him.”

“I have no doubt you will. You’re kind. And considerate. And thoughtful. —Don’t you hide that smile from me; you know I’m right.” With a laugh, he held my chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“I could say the same thing about you,” I said, grinning.

“Years of practice,” he said, and he winked at me. “You, on the other hand, are a natural.” He kissed my cheek, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my opposite elbow. We stilled in each other’s hands. Breathing. Listening to the way the tides of wind tumbled through the trees, fluttering ferns and making branches creak. Feeling how my heartbeat had slowed, how my breathing had evened, how the electric fuzzies from his touch scrambled my sense of hot and cold.

“Thank you,” I told him in a soft voice, cheeks glowing rosy. “I, uh…I did need a minute, actually.”

He flashed me one of those intentionally dazzling grins. “I told you so.”

“Shut up.”

“Being right all the time is both a gift and a curse. This hurts me as much as it hurts you.”

“Shut _up_ ,” I said in a giggle, nudging his unmoving body. With nothing left to say, and no other reason to be here, we sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. “We should probably meet your family, now.”

Though he held his smile, the corners of his eyes creased like he had winced. “Yes,” he said, forming the words carefully, “yes, I suppose we should.”

We lingered getting up. Edward shrugged into his jacket at a human pace; I took a moment to crack my neck and stretch my legs. We gave each other glances when we thought the other wasn’t looking.

Only when we accidentally caught the other looking did I notice we held the same expression. Shy, nervous, rueful smiles. Like we had both agreed to end things, though neither of us wanted to. Like we had been caught in the act but not ashamed enough to regret it.

I couldn’t look at him for more than a second at a time. Whatever confidence I found was shared between the two of us when I grabbed his hand.

I was going to meet Edward’s family. No more distractions. No more time.

While we ambled back to the car, I peeked at him, shy. Pushing through our collective anxiety, I said, “So. Um. Can I ask you one last thing, then? Unedit?”

“Uh oh.” Edward saw my face scrunch in a feigned glare. It took a moment more before he broke down. “Oh, all right. Just don’t make a habit of it. I’m charging you for the next one.”

I rolled my eyes. “You want an unedit, fine. I’ll trade you. It’s not even bad.”

“Ask.”

“All I wanna know is if you, uh…” My fingers did that thing where they searched for something to pick at. Edward must have noticed; he squeezed my hand. “Well, just, how you feel about Carlisle now. Does he still…y’know, try to act like your dad? Er, uh, your… _sire_?”

That made him laugh. “He’s decidedly not my sire. If you’re asking about his sense of paternalism, yes, it still exists. Frustratingly so. But Carlisle is the closest thing I will ever have to a father, and I’m old enough now to appreciate that kind of support. He’s my mentor, my confidante. My best friend. Perhaps that’s even better than having a father. I don’t know.”

I nodded, chewing my lower lip. My muscles loosened. If Carlisle and Edward could still have a relationship despite their mistakes, well, there had to be hope for me and Charlie, right? “That’s…really comforting to hear, actually.”

“What I will say, though, is that our relationship didn’t develop overnight. It certainly didn’t happen in the span of several months.” He gave me another look.

“Point taken.” Our feet crunched over the worn gravel of the shoulder, where Edward had parked the car. Though he opened the door for me, I placed my hand on the frame. And we hesitated there. The jittery energy returned. “Thank you. For the unedit. And for…”

Another snarky grin. “For being right about needing a minute?”

I stomped my foot. “No, dammit! For helping me. Obviously.” I fought to keep my feigned anger at the sound of his laugh. “Ugh. You’re getting too cocky for your own good. Someone’s gonna have to put you in your place.”

“You do that enough already, trust me.” Still grinning, he pressed his lips to my hand. A swipe of wind brushed my hair over my shoulder; Edward had left my side. By the time I stumbled into the passenger seat, he had shut his car door and started the engine. “You’re the one that helped me.”

I scoffed at the thought, but my insides warmed at the thought. “Yeah. I’m sure I’ve been real useful, freaking out.” Out of instinct, we reached for each other’s hands. My heart stuttered, slowed.

“Really. You have. Quite frankly, I—also needed a minute.” We exchanged more nervous looks.

My lips twitched into a smile. “Unedit?”

“Hah! Not a chance.”

“You can put it on my tab,” I offered. That only elicited another bark of laughter. So I tried again: “Are you okay?”

And he gave me a smile. “If you’re by my side, I’ll always be more than okay.” And he kissed my hand again.

He turned onto an unpaved road, unmarked and swallowed in ferns. The forest encroached on both sides, leaving the road ahead only discernible for a few meters as it twisted, serpentlike, around the ancient trees.

And then, after a few miles, the forest thinned and we entered the mouth of a small meadow. Or was it actually a lawn? The gloom of the forest didn't relent, for six primordial cedars shaded an entire acre with their vast sweep of branches. The trees held their protecting shadow right up to the walls of the house that stood among them.

I don't know what I had expected. Maybe some creepy, shabby, Gothic mansion on a hill, with bats and lightning and spooky ghosts flying around or something. Your typical vampire abode.

What I didn’t expect was a perky three-story Victorian home decked out in a crisp paint job of soft autumnal colors. Carved stone steps winded upwards to the rounded wooden arch of a shaded front porch. Ivy climbed across the arch, across the roof, along the gutters. Behind the home, high in the trees, a small turret of a treehouse that matched the turret of the house and made it seem even taller, more regal. Hidden in the obscurity of the forest, weaving around the property, a twisting snake of water gurgled.

“Wow.”

“Like it?”

“It’s—wow.”

“Your vocabulary astounds me.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone has a million bajillion years to comb through the thesaurus,” I mumbled. He kissed my left hand and opened my passenger door from the outside. That nostalgic scent of forest returned, of pine, of damp forest floor, of water. The latter, bubbling and gurgling beside us, made the back of my brain pound angrily, set my teeth on edge. I blanked out my mind, swallowed my heart back down my throat.

God, this place was beautiful.

He was looking at me. Studying my face. Following my gaze towards the mansion looming over us. “Ready?”

A beat passed. Then we both broke into titters. Like it was some inside joke. Like we knew which answer I’d pick. Like we knew what the actual was. For both of us.

“Duh.”

He rolled his eyes. “How did I know you were going to say that.”

“Cuz you’re a mindreader. Double duh.” That made us actually laugh. Edward’s hands found my shoulders, lips found my cheek. I grabbed onto as much of him as I could. “Just—” my voice became a whisper “—just stay by me. Please.”

The crooked smile that bloomed across his face smoothed the pleading scrunch out of my brows. “I’ll stay by your side if you stay by mine,” he said.

“Deal.”

We sealed our deal with a kiss. And I was ready then.

Ready enough, anyway.

Edward’s attention snapped to the garage. As it groaned open, Rosalie exited with all of the glamor of a runway model. Her black eyes stood stark against her sun-white face and flouncing golden hair. She flicked a lock of it over her shoulder as she walked. My breath caught in my throat. _Trial by fire: here we go._

“You’re hunting?” he said, cross. “Now?” That stopped her in her tracks, and Edward reached for his head.

“When I want to hunt, I hunt,” said Rosalie. She began to strut past us again.

“You know it’s not safe.”

“Sure. But one might say, I abstain from following Alice’s advice.” Her brow arched at the verb.

Edward’s lips pursed. “Pretty poor decision-making coming from someone who claims to want to protect the family,” Edward quipped coolly as we passed her.

“Save a front row seat in lecture hall for me, teach.”

No response. We took two more steps.

Then they stopped and turned on a heel simultaneously.

Standing there, glaring at each other with gritted teeth in silence, Rose and Edward looked as though they were ready to start a pistol duel. Meanwhile, I shrunk away from the vampires.

“What good would it have done?” he demanded, as if countering something she had told him. And again: “I was on your side from the beginning.”

Rosalie’s face remained unchanged. She spoke over whatever Edward was snarling. “Is this supposed to serve as a comfort for me as you go to introduce your child bride to our coven?”

Could silence feel more like a bomb? Edward winced; he spoke as if he was talking over her. “Not everyone is you, Rose.” He clutched his head. “God, _stop_.”

At the first signs of pain, I jumped to him, timid. My fingers brushed his. Though he startled at my touch like he forgot I was there, some of the tension melted out of him. So I laced my fingers through his and rested my free hand on his forearm. And he stilled.

Rosalie looked down at me like any angry parent snarling with disappointment.

It punched the confidence right out of me. But I tried to stand tall. I tried to look her in the eye. I squeezed his hand and said, “Hi. Nice to meet you.” My voice was like a wisp of sound. “My name—”

But Rose had already jumped the river before I could round the B. Whatever I said would’ve been lost in the gurgle of water.

In the distance, birds tweeted and sang, as if they’d missed the whole exchange. Somewhere far away, a booming voice called after her, “Babe, c’mon, wait up!”

And we stood there. Steeped in silence.

“Gotta say,” I said, “I pictured that going a lot better.”

Edward closed his eyes and nodded, the lines in his face disappearing in poreless skin. Listening. “Right. I will.” His calm tone made me think that, whoever was responding to, it certainly wasn’t Rosalie.

“Huh?”

Edward said coolly, to me, “My apologies on behalf of my...sister.”

“No, I mean— I didn’t mean to get in the way, honest, I just thought—”

“Please. We made our decision; her behavior was inappropriate. You handled it well. Trust me.” He kissed the top of my head and reached for my hand again. “I didn’t think you’d have to come through on your end of the deal so soon. But thank you for doing it, anyway.”

“Oh, y’know. Day in the life.” _I think I’m gonna pass out._ “So we’re zero outta six on the Cullens liking me.”

His laugh was short but genuine. “That’s not true. Alice likes you. That’s roughly twenty percent right there.” Edward climbed the first few steps and turned to offer me his hand. I took it. Chills spilled into my wrist, dissolved into pleasant tingling. We laced fingers, slow and languid, to make the chills last longer.

The rush of him carried mew up the first few steps, but I hesitated halfway up. He pulled me into his grasp. I stiffened from the cold.

“Steady, sweet girl. Breathe,” he whispered with his cheek on mine, tracing the sensitive skin behind my ear with a thumb. “They love you already. I promise you.”

I shut my eyes and nodded.

We climbed the steps and he opened the front door for me.

Despite its regal exterior, the inside boasted bright, open space. This must have originally been several rooms, but the walls had been removed from most of the first floor and part of the second to create one wide space. A curved staircase carved from warm wood dominated the west side of the room, sweeping to the second floor: the balcony, and the mouth of a hallway. The walls, the high-beamed ceiling, the wooden floors, and the thick carpets were all varying shades of warm-toned brown and cream. The back, south-facing wall had been entirely replaced with glass, and, beyond the shade of the cedars, the lawn—bordered by a long, blooming garden—sprawled wide to the wide river. The lush green was striking against the interior.

Waiting to greet us, standing just to the left of the door, on a raised portion of the floor by a gleaming grand piano, were Edward's “parents,” laced together in some tender embrace that, at first, made me think we were interrupting something.

Charlie had talked about Dr. Carlisle Cullen before. He respected the man more than anyone else in Forks—but...wow. The crows feet and forehead wrinkles signature of a man in his late thirties, early forties. Mixed with sweeping sand-colored hair and a pair of molten eyes that could melt steel, he looked like he belonged on silver screens, playing silver foxes.

It was easy to see why Charlie thought so highly of the doctor.

At Dr. Cullen’s side was Esme, I assumed, the only one of the family I'd never seen before. She, too, struck me as a starlet, with her heart-shaped face and billows of soft, burnt-caramel hair. She was small, slender, yet less angular, more rounded than the others. They were both dressed dressy-casual in soft neutrals.

They smiled in welcome, but made no move to approach us. Trying not to frighten me, I guessed.

"Carlisle, Esme," Edward's voice broke the short silence, "this is Isabella Swan. Bells. My girlfriend."

A booming laugh erupted from the second floor, partially masking a separate giggle; Edward glared, I blushed. _What is it with vampires and the word ‘girlfriend’?_

They ignored the laughter. Nothing but joy emanated from them. "Isabella," Carlisle’s step mirrored Edward’s, but even more fluid; he moved at just the right speed, blinked the perfect amount, and carried with him all of the unconscious human ticks that negated the unsettling edge the other Cullens possessed. My shoulders visibly untensed. “It's an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance. Edward holds you in high regard.” He extended his hand slowly, even by human standards. I took it and fought a shudder. Edward’s skin was silky and icy and smooth—Carlisle’s was colder, and less so. He must have noticed my reaction, but he didn't falter.

“Thank you. Good to make your acquaintance too, sir.” Never have I tried to act so genteel in all my life.

When he gave me a warm smile, I noticed that he had subtly pointed canines similar to Alice. "Please, call me Carlisle."

"Carlisle." I flashed my own smile back at him, my sudden confidence surprising me. I could feel Edward's relief at my side.

Esme smiled and stepped forward as well, reaching for my hand with her right. At the same time, her left snaked around Carlisle’s waist. Although her movements didn’t match her husband’s, you could tell she admired him by the way she employed his tricks: the blinking, the polite smile that reached her eyes, the breathing. Whatever she lacked in Carlisle’s flawless approach, I didn’t notice: her brimming vivacity made it hard to pay attention to whatever inhuman qualities she possessed.

"So wonderful to meet you, Isabella.” Everything save for her handshake was warm.

"Thank you. I'm glad to meet you, too." And I was. It was like meeting a fairy tale — a Disney Princess in the flesh. “Um, this is a beautiful home. — Oh! And uh, thanks so much for the lily. Edward told me about the greenhouse.” Esme beamed, flashing her teeth. Smiling shyly, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and continued, “You garden?”

That set the sparkle off in her eyes. “I do. I keep a small plot and a greenhouse. I would be delighted to show you around sometime; the asparagus is just starting to come in and, oh! you must take some parsnips home with you, please.” She brimmed with so much excitement, I had been swept away by her smile before I could wonder why a vampire grew vegetables.

“Absolutely. I’d love to see it, yeah. The parsnips sound great, thank you. Thanks so much.” Carlisle's expression distracted me from this train of thought; he flashed Edward a look. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward nod once. I looked away, trying to be polite. My eyes flicked to the grand piano. Edward’s grand piano, I suspected.

“Oh, do you play?” asked Esme, smile growing bigger.

“No, not really. Only for Ren— uh, my mother.”

When Rene and my Nona were still on good terms, Rene and I would hole ourselves away at Nona’s vacation home whenever we were in-between apartment leases. Rene’s dust-caked piano from childhood stood in the corner of the living room, next to the floor-to-ceiling shelf of her records. I loved to watch Rene play. She had said she always wanted to ‘ _really_ study it, Julliard-style’ but we never had the money to get her a formal education after her dance career ended, much less pay for any lessons.

Everything I learned, I learned from Google and Rene. By the time I was eleven, I could play well enough for her to dance from room to room, her half-drunk bottle of Barefoot clanking against the doorframes as she spun through them. We always ended the night dueting Elton John and screaming the theme song to _Cheers_.

But. No. I didn’t play. Not since Nona had to sell the place.

“Do you?” _God, stop being so awkward._ “Play piano, I mean?”

“Oh, no! I can’t keep a beat for the life of me. My poor Carlisle has tried many times to teach me, without much luck,” she said, and the smoldering smile she gave Carlisle dazed him; he had hearts in his eyes.

“Your effort is commendable on its own accord, my dear,” said Carlisle, pecking her cheek. Just before I could blush from the intimacy between them, Carlisle turned and said, “Did Edward tell you he’s a musician?”

“He may have mentioned a Steinway in his not-so-distant future.” When Carlisle glanced at Edward, his son grinned. “But I’m not surprised; he knows every song in existence, seems like.”

Carlisle smiled. “His knowledge is encyclopedic. If only you’d brought the full library from Arcadia,” he said to Edward with a flash of a crooked smile, and Edward laughed.

“There aren’t enough packing peanuts in the world for that task.”

“But have you played for her? —Oh, Edward, you must,” said Esme.

Bearing his soul for any kind of audience didn’t seem in-character. He only proved me right: “Perhaps now isn’t the best time.” But Esme insisted in a peal of laughter and a gentle nudge toward the keys. He didn't relax until after I laced his hand with mine, after my touch softened him. Then he exhaled, rolled his eyes, and led me to the piano—a different Steinway. We sat at the black wood bench together. Our shoulders touched.

“No, not today,” Edward replied. “I may have some rust to shake off, yet.”

“Huh?”

“Esme asked— nothing.”

I muttered, “Oh, so we’re editing today, huh,” and he laughed.

With Esme and Carlisle exchanging short, quiet words in the background, Edward dipped into a meandering pool of chords, letting the keys swell and diminish to a dusty nothing of a sound. His fingers brushed over ivory, dove again. The room filled with the beautiful trickle of purpley, brassy notes and splashes of chords that couldn’t have been played by only two hands. My jaw dropped. Two low voices chuckled behind me.

That _timbre_. The way he moved on the keys. It just—

I mean, this is gonna sound totally cheesey but this…I mean, _this_ was dazzling.

All those times before, with the smoldering eyes and the glimpses of his warm smile and all the times he held me, yeah, honestly, I felt a little bit dazzled.

But this? This was an inhuman brand of dazzling. Edward caught my breath like nothing else in this world could ever do.

It was only after Edward had picked up on a line of someone else’s melody that he stopped to sneak a peek in my direction. My incredulous laughter prompted him to speak. “What’s so funny?”

“What? You can do _that_ and you’re playing ‘Rhapsody in Blue’?”

He laughed. “Not a fan?”

“Very a fan, yeah. Still.” This was another one of Rene’s songs she used to dance to. All the time. Every single version of ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ you could think of. It was that song that sparked my hair metal phase, my hapless attempt to drown her out. I sniffed. “Just, y’know, I personally prefer the 70s version of this song by—”

“If you’re referring to the 1977 ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ released by Walter Murphy,” he said, pounding through several fortissimo measures, “I’ve never heard it in all my life, and I already know it’s trash, and I know you’re just being facetious.”

“As always,” I grinned. Only after his fingers scrambled up a run of treble notes did he cast a look in my direction. Too close in my orbit, whatever playful glare he had dissolved into that smoldering, tender look and a soft kiss on my cheek.

“So don’t you dare try to edit with me, Isabella,” he said, soft murmur pulling me into him. He never missed a beat—or a note. Just as I went to kiss him, I startled, sneaking a shy glance back.

Empty living room, empty foyer.

The confusion must’ve been clear on my face. “Esme’s gone with Carlisle to get to the parsnips.” He misinterpreted my racing heartbeat. “Don’t worry. We still have chaperones.”

"Look who’s back!" Alice called enthusiastically from the balcony.

“How’d you guess?” said Edward coolly without looking at her, dulling his piano to background music.

Alice jumped from the second-floor balcony off the back of Jasper, a flash of black hair and white skin. She was soundless when she touched the ground in front of me. I flinched, and Edward shot her a glare, but I did like it. It was natural — for her, anyway.

"Hi!" Alice said, and she bounced forward to plant a whisper of a kiss on my cheek. “Wow. Edward, I can’t imagine— Bells, you really do smell amazing,” she said. “I didn’t get it before. Too sugary.” Edward smirked and exhaled through his nostrils. “Sorry. Is that a weird thing to say?”

“Yes,” he answered, fingers brushing over the keys again. “And she is not, and never has been, sugary. You insult her.”

I ignored him. “Thanks Alice. Good to see you again.”

“No kidding! Edward and the fam have been such sticks in the mud about inviting you here.” She rolled her eyes. “But now I can show you my studio and we can tailor that dress and you can see the moodboard I made for your wardrobe ohmygodBells you’re gonna rock nineties grunge with seventies chic and you’re gonna look _fabulous_ and we’re gonna be the best of—"

“You won’t be her best friend just by telling her,” said Edward, sniffing. “You have to put in the work.”

Alice looked at me and smirked. Whatever she was thinking, it made Edward roll his eyes and turn away.

I nudged Edward’s unmoving shoulder with my own. “Hey. Don’t you talk about my darling friend like that,” I said. “You never bet against Alice.”

Alice cheered, clapping her hands. When Edward huffed, she waved him away and said to me, “Don’t mind him. He’s still upset with me. And conveniently choosing to forget that I’ve been deemed, officially, the Best Sister in the History of the World.”

Without taking his fingers off the keys, Edward swiped at her from his place on the bench. Alice bolted out of his grasp, flitting around the piano, teasing him in a sing-song that purposefully clashed with his chords.

While they bickered and tried to hit each other, my attention floated to the man standing at the foot of the stairs who looked at me with a friendly, albeit pained, expression. Strands of curly, honey-blonde hair framed his face and fell to just below his ears.

“You must be Jasper, right?” I asked him. “Bells. Hi.” In the background, Edward snapped at Alice to quit messing with his melody.

Jasper blinked and looked away from me as if too shy to bear being noticed, but he gave me a tiny smile. Never blinking. Never breathing. Whereas Carlisle had been a fluidly moving human, Jasper shuddered and stopped like a robot, eyes darting incessantly. He shuffled between wanting to be polite and wanting to keep his distance.

Alice and Edward exchanged one of their signature looks, and Alice stopped at her place near the center of the room. Worry lines accompanied Alice’s soft smile; the energy in the room stilled. She swooped to face Jasper, touching a hand to his cheek. “You can say hello, Jas; you won’t hurt her,” she cooed. Jasper, closing his eyes, leaned into her touch. He nodded as if he had been struck by a dreamstate and had no idea what she was talking about.

Again, it felt like Edward and I were interrupting some moment between lovers.

Then Jasper’s eyes opened to mine, smile never dropping. Friendly, cordial, but hesitant. “Hi.” His hands remained clasped behind his back. Everyone but me visibly relaxed. I frowned, confused. So did he. Jasper glanced behind me, at Edward.

In a shower of sparks, Edward grabbed my hand. Whatever relaxation he felt passed onto me; I softened, heartbeat slowed.

Meanwhile, Alice grinned, untangling Jasper’s fingers and bringing them to her waist. Instead of settling there, Jasper scooped her up and tossed her in the air; in a squeal of laughter, Alice glomped onto Jasper’s back and bit him on the ear. They erupted into giggles; he spun her around the room as though they danced together, though he never got within ten feet of us. In Jasper’s ear, Alice seemed to murmur something about being mad about finishing without her.

Edward’s gentle nudge broke my concentration; I blushed at the realization that I had been staring. “Come, why don’t I give you a tour of the house? I’m sure it’ll be a while before Carlisle’s back.” His fingers threading through mine swept my breath away; I followed where he led. Climbing up the stairs, we left Jasper and Alice spilling over the back of the couch and onto the floor, tangled in each other.

Though he didn’t look at me, Edward’s hand squeezed mine—flighty, jittery, nervous. Excited.

He and Alice barely referenced Jasper’s gift prior to this. But in that moment, I wondered how powerful it could be.

Although I didn’t know whether it was better to let them have their moment or not, I said, “Nice to meet you,” desperate not to have more than one Cullen dislike me.

To my relief, Jasper’s head popped over the couch, smiling. Alice was turning on the TV. “You as well, of course.” The faint lilt of a fading southern accent lingered in his dry throat. At least he tried to be friendly. My heart fluttered.

“So where’s Emmett?” I asked Edward. Truth be told, I’d been excited to see him again; his warmth and sunny disposition never failed to put me at ease.

“Emmett’s with Rosalie.”

“Oh.” I stumbled over how to word my next question: “How come she doesn’t like me?”

“It’s not that she doesn’t—” But I guess Edward decided against saying Rosalie didn’t _not_ like me. “Rosalie, she struggles. With who we are. She of course believes in the value of human life, but in assimilating with human culture, she—” Edward never finished his sentence. “She disagrees. She thinks we’re all making an incredible mistake. For now.”

 _Mistake._ “Does everyone feel that way?” I asked in a small voice.

“No, of course not. Emmett has no problem with you being in our lives, as you know. He’s incredulous, but, well, excited. Carlisle and Esme are happy for me, which of course means they’re happy you’re here. And Alice is—Alice.”

“Enthusiastic,” I offered.

"Apt. Yes.” His lips were tight. I turned to face the balcony and take one more look along the room. Alice was curled up on the couch in Jasper’s arms, murmuring to him in a low voice; he kissed her roughly. In the background, a Korean drama's theme song began to play. “Not what you expected, is it?” Edward asked, hand brushing around the corner of my shoulder. “The house.”

“Yeah, what gives, huh? No coffins, no pile of skulls in the corner. Not even a cobweb. I signed up for bats and gore and virgin sacrifices.”

“We’ve got one of three,” Alice said loud enough for the both of us. Edward shot her a glare, but I burst out laughing. She looked back at her brother, smug. “That’s called putting in the work.”

Edward rolled his eyes and took my hand again. “Come on. They get more insufferable the longer you stick around.”

He led me down the wooden halls, gesturing at each door. "Rosalie and Emmett's room—” which was the only one closed “—Carlisle's office… Alice's room…"

He would have continued without pause, but I stopped dead at the hall where the wall jut out beside Carlisle’s study, staring at the ornament hanging on the wall above my head. Edward chuckled at my bewildered expression.

"You can laugh," he said. "It is sort of ironic."

I didn't laugh. A large, wooden cross hung, dark patina contrasting with the lighter tone of the wall. I didn't touch it, though I was curious if the aged wood would feel as silky as it looked.

“Looks old.”

"Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."

 _Christ._ "Why do you keep this here?" Shouldn’t it belong in a museum?

"Nostalgia’s sake. It belonged to Carlisle's father. He carved it himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

“Wow.” I struggled to wrap my mind around the concept of so many years. “Wow. Yeah, that’s...wow.”

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Wow. How old is Carlisle?"

"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-somethingth birthday," Edward said. I looked back at him, a million questions in my eyes. "Carlisle was born in London, sixteen-forties.”

Oh. Right. “...Wow.”

“Other interjections do exist, you know.”

“Fuck.”

Clearly not the interjection he had in mind; he pursed his lips. “I’ll have to lend you my thesaurus.”

My tongue burned with questions. I didn’t have the patience to reply to his snark. “So he went, what, two-hundred-some years, and you’re the first person he changed?”

Edward nodded. His lips twitched only once.

“Wow. So you guys are really the dynamic duo, huh? You’ve been with him since the beginning?”

“Since _my_ beginning, yes—for the most part, anyway. But yes. I suppose we are. Like Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Uh. Yeah. I was picturing more of a Shaggy and Scooby Doo scenario.” Did Edward even know that reference? “So, then, you weren’t with him the whole time, huh?” I asked him as we passed the cross. “I thought he changed you. Aren’t you guys, like…” What was the word he used? _Bonded_? It sounded too intimate to say aloud. I blushed just thinking of the word.

"He did. But I had a typical case of rebellious youth, you could say. A few years after I was reborn, created, whatever you want to call it, I left.”

Tucked behind the jut wall with the cross was a pristine-looking bathroom on the left. The last door which sat at the end of the hall.

Between the bathroom and the last door, light streamed from a floor-to-ceiling window. I paused again, this time to gawk at the forest underneath us.

“How come you left?”

Edward shifted, pulled from my grasp so his fingers brushed mine. “I resented him. Not just for acting as a guiding force, as I mentioned earlier, but for forcing his philosophy of temperance onto me. I was very anti-temperance back then, in more ways than one.” He laughed.

Reading his face, I tried to unedit. “You wanted to drink human blood.”

He stuffed his free hand in the pocket of his slacks. “Yes. Yes, that was part of it. Though, to tell you the truth of it, I missed things: going out to jazz clubs and speakeasies, socializing, performing.”

So Edward _did_ play publicly. Once upon a time. “Carlisle wouldn’t let you? Isn’t that part of the whole philosophy, mingling with humans?”

He shrugged, moving towards the door at the end of the hall. “Well, sure. Except his philosophy is ‘mingling with humans without killing humans,’ which is quite a distinction when you’re a newborn vampire. As it was, I would have murdered every beating heart in whatever club I stepped foot into. I would’ve broken every piano I laid my hands on. You know, back when we lived at his estate out east, I went through thirty-three pianos in the first year.” As his hand rested on the doorknob, he chuckled at the memory.

I laughed at that, wincing internally over how much that must’ve cost Carlisle. “Have you been able to perform since then?”

“Oh, absolutely. But for the first decade, I could really only play at Arcadia, the estate. And performing for vampires back then was…quite the stuffy affair, in truth. At least in Carlisle’s social circles.”

I wrinkled my nose. “So they liked baroque, huh?”

That elicited a laugh. “You aren’t too far off the money.” Edward turned the knob and flung the door open. “Don’t tell me you dislike baroque. I’d hate to have to break up so soon.”

The smell lured me inside, filled with brain with helium. As I stumbled over thick gold carpet, the warm air unfurled my muscles. _Home._ I closed my eyes to breathe. While Edward’s clothes smelled spicy like cinnamon, the room had a more complex profile: cinnamon, cloves, dried wood, ash, musk, _him_.

I felt lighter than a whisper, like I was floating underwater.

My eyes opened to the wall-sized window on the western and northern side. His view looked out over the winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain range. Toothpick firs waved back at us. In the distance, birds circled and swooped under angry storm clouds.

“Wow.”

“You’re par for the course, aren’t you?”

English had only been an afterthought. It was a wonder I didn’t collapse in a heap of warm fuzzies.

He must’ve noticed my inebriated state. Grinning, Edward came around to face me. As soon as his fingers trailed my inner arm, I latched my arms around his neck to keep my knees from buckling. He collected me into his hands.

“Bells, breathe,” he reminded me, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

I breathed. Every atom in the room buzzed, electrified, including all the atoms rattling around in my brain. In his arms, that concentrated energy surged, mixed with his potent smell, made all my senses scream. God, I could pass out.

“You have to breathe more than once.”

Oh. Right.

Edward laughed at my deep, ragged inhale. His voice, like molten caramel, made me shudder. “Perhaps you need time to acclimate?”

 _Maybe I do._ “Is that a thing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t invite humans to my room.” His touched lightened, left me, and I locked my knees at the last minute, stumbling once.

That was when I caught sight of his music collection.

The eastern wall was completely covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves of CDs, records, 8-tracks, and cassettes. Better stocked than my favorite music store in Phoenix, for sure. In the corner of it, where Edward stood, stood a sleek sound system studded with buttons and dials, the kind I’d probably break if I touched. Out of instinct, I took a shaky step back.

Behind me, a wide black leather sofa sat. It sandwiched a small end table between the arm and the southern wall.

Someplace to collapse—thank god.

When I rolled onto the sofa, my skirt swept across my thighs. I stretched my legs and pointed my toes across the couch cushions.

“Hang on,” I said through uneven breathing, settling in. It captured his attention. “you’re gonna have to play what’s in your stereo right now.”

He laughed. “Right now?”

“Put it on my tab. Unedit. I gotta know what you listen to behind closed doors. Backstreet Boys? Judas Priest? The Partridge Family?”

“You’re really trying to get a rise out of me today with the 70s music, aren’t you?” With a small smile, he picked up the remote. “Alright, add it to your tab. Coincidentally, it’s baroque. Not as scandalous as you were expecting, I’m sure.”

“No way.” When the strings jumped to life, I laughed. So did he. “You’re a baroque guy, huh? So sorry to hear that.” He scoffed and waved me away. I couldn’t help another giggle. “No, no, jokes, jokes. C’mon. What’s playing? Tell me about it.”

“Claudio Monteverde’s _L'Orfeo_. Do you know it?” I shook my head. “It’s an operatic classic. One of the first operas ever written. Monteverde was a prominent figure in the transition from the Renaissance music era to the Baroque period. _L’Orfeo_ tells the Greek love story of Orpheus and Euridice. We’re just coming up on Euridice’s first lines.” Pause. “Do you know the story?”

“Kinda.” From what I remembered, “Some dude—”

“Orpheus.”

“Orpheus, goes to save his dead bride Euridice from hell.”

“Hades.”

“Right. From Hades. In hell. Then Orpheus ends up losing her cuz he looks back or whatever.” I tried to pick up what they were saying. “Is this Italian?” He nodded. “Do you know Italian?”

“I do.”

“Ooh.” I perked. “What’s she singing? This is Euridice, right?”

Edward smirked, rubbing the nape of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting from mine and focusing on mountainous landscape behind me. As her lines drifted round the room and soaked into the draped fabrics, he translated in a soft voice. “‘For no longer do I possess my own heart. / It is with you in the company of Love; / Ask of it, then, if you want to know / How happily it rejoices, and how much it loves you.’” His words died to the sounds of a fortissimo chorus line.

Now the warm air seemed too warm; it scorched my cheeks.

Trying to avoid his gaze, lest he find out I’d been blushing, I focused my attention back to my pointed toes, trailed my eyes up the southern wall. “Yeah, that’s…” _Oh._

In direct eyeshot hung the succulent drawing. Once upon a time, so long ago now, when he had first saved my life, I had given it to him.

That day in Port Angeles, he told me he had hung it up. It seemed like such a minor detail back then. Some detail he threw out for no reason.

" _I can’t help staring at it,”_ he had said. _"I stare at it all the time."_

Had he been thinking of me all this time, too?

“Wow?” he offered in a tease, throwing a crooked smile and a starry side-eye my way.

Tension choked me. “I was gonna say beautiful, but yeah.” I stumbled over a laugh. My attention couldn’t tear itself away from the succulent. I searched for another breath. “Wow.” Swooping just above the frame, a red string crossed the ceiling with six large origami cranes tied to it. All of them were folded with spotty, old paper dotted with calligraphy.

Edward joined me on the couch. The space between us felt like an endless dial-up screech. “You do origami?” I asked louder than I should have, gesturing with my head to the wall.

He remained stiff as I reached for my hand, as I scooted close to him. He glanced up and traced his eyes over the cranes. “No. Just the once.”

“How come you have them?”

“They’re a reminder.” He looked down at our hands, pulled from mine to trace patterns on the back of my hand. I leaned into him, placing my hand on his forearm.

“Of what?”

“Me. Another version of me. After I had left Carlisle.”

“When you hunted humans.” Edward didn’t look up, but his hand stopped moving. There were only several inches left between us. Those were always the most painful, grating, unbearable.

When I clambered into his arms, he shuddered like he was trying to pull away. But never left me. Once I stopped moving, with my back resting against his torso, he relaxed. He melted into the warm endorphins of me, drew my body into him, breathing me in.

And everything felt…okay. Okayer than when I’d left Charlie’s house. Okayer than when I had left Phoenix. Because it felt new, in a hopeful way. It felt right, like second-nature. It felt…god, it felt amazing. Like every decision we had made to get here, errors and all, had been worth it.

“I had made a huge mistake,” he told me. “As soon as I left him, I knew I couldn’t make it on my own. I could barely hold a pencil without snapping it. But I was too proud to go back. Much too proud to admit I was wrong.”

“So did you…” _y’know, kill an entire town_? m _urder whole families?_ How devastating was Edward’s kill count, anyway? “Did you catch the Volturi’s attention?”

My edit brought a knowing glint to his eye. “Thankfully, no. Not for that reason, anyway. For a while, I blended my philosophy with Carlisle’s. I stalked everyone’s mind for a victim that fit whatever I found reprehensible. Rapists, pedophiles, Virgil Effinger and his social circle—”

“Who?”

“A traitor. It doesn't matter now. My point is, even when I tried being judicious, he and so many others fueled an appetite that eventually outgrew me.” I nodded, leaning back, settling. Until he repositioned me in his arms so he could read my face. His own brow furrowed. “You relaxed.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “You killed evil people. That’s not so bad.”

That didn’t clear the clouds from his eyes. “I was killing evil people based on my definition of their supposed evil. Killing those people may have been worth it at that particular moment, who was I to say who they would be in the future?”

“Even more evil?”

“Not necessarily. Evil that’s learned can be unlearned. But what is killed cannot be ‘unkilled.’ The end didn’t justify the means.”

“Unless their evil kills a lot of people.”

The spark of an argument lit up Edward’s eyes, but dulled with the rising and falling of his chest. “We can argue about the finer points of the morality, but at the end of the day, vampires need blood more than they need a moral compass. So when gray areas emerge in your black-and-white world—when a person is bad, but not evil— you bend the rules a little. Then you always bend the rules. Then suddenly you wake up in the moment of some violent crime and realize it’s all out of control; suddenly you’ve killed someone you never meant to kill. And how is that any more humane?”

“Because there are truly evil people in the world,” I said. “What’s a couple mistakes?”

Edward spoke in a soft tone. “Bells. It was more than just a couple.”

It still didn’t answer what the hell the origami was for, but at that moment, all I could feel was the crushing weight of Edward’s own guilt. I rubbed his forearm with my hand, softened him before I twisted back into his lap again. “Um. Sorry, if, if asking about the cranes was out of line. I know it’s probably painful to remember.”

He looked down, eyes settling on my collarbone. “It’s not painful having to remember,” he said. “It’s painful knowing that my mistakes should have to be recounted to someone for whom I care.” Edward placed a kiss at the spot where my neck met my shoulder. “But it’s important to understand why I had to quit. It ties into the cranes. I couldn’t trust myself to do the right thing. I didn’t know right from wrong. Apparently, I still don’t.” He sighed, his cold breath spilling down my shoulder. I shuddered. "I needed—I don't know. A tangible artifact, I guess. To keep track."

Whatever clicked in my brain, it caused me to perk. “Oh. So the cranes are about quitting. Is that it?”

Edward laughed in a low voice. “So impatient. Yes. The cranes helped me quit. Or at least slow me down. Long enough to think." And he thought.

It took several silent moments to speak again. “After the aforementioned ‘violent crime,’ I ran away to the small apartment I kept in the folds of Chicago. Just some place I kept to hold my mementos of my human life. Someplace far enough where I’d never run into my father, my friends, anyone from my past, but close enough to observe them. My former life.” He paused, his eyes drifting over some memory. “I sat at the table and taught myself how to fold paper cranes. To keep myself focused. To keep up with my motor skills training, like Carlisle had taught me with the piano. Really, though, I just…after that kill, the main priority was just to keep myself from—going out. And I did it nonstop for hours. I used up every page of every book I owned. Folded fifty-some thousand cranes—”

“ _What_?”

“—and it got me through the day.” He grimaced. “Except I shredded my mother’s family Bible in the process. Every page, even the ones that held our lineage and information.”

I cast my eyes back on the calligraphy cranes. “So this is your lineage.”

“Most of it. I wouldn’t have kept them, but unfortunately it’s one of the few things I have left from my mother, since my father had sold most of her things when she passed.” He shook his head, huffing at the memory. “I pocketed the pages with our lineage, a few pages that had my favorite verses. Ten cranes. I kept at least one in my pocket every day for seventy years. If I ever killed someone, I would kill the crane.”

"Wow."

"No kidding," he muttered. "Newborns are such emotional creatures. How I got through the days, I’ll never know. But it did work. So I kept doing it.”

My eyes kept running over the paper sculptures. “There are only five left.”

“I’ve killed four people since that day.” Beat. “And I—I've keep the fifth in my jacket. Sometimes. Lately.” We exchanged a glance. “Does that frighten you?”

How could I explain the thrill without sounding sick? “No.”

He checked my heart to make sure. Soft, slow, and rhythmic, now. “Do I still have time to convince you?”

“Did you ever?”

Edward’s arms snaked around my waist again, slow, and locked me to him. Tight, like he’d missed holding someone, like he missed being a part of something. When he sighed, cool breath splayed across the back of my neck. Shivers bolted down my spine and I melted into him. “Aha—goosebumps.” His cool fingers brushed over them. “That’s more of an appropriate reaction.” His lips and teeth nipped at my neck, at my jawline.

“Not fear,” I said, breathless. “Just cold.”

His arms wrapped tighter. “I don’t know why you insist on giving me so much credit. You’re making things so easy for me.” Edward ran his sharp teeth down the pulse in my neck. “I give you every opportunity to run away and what do you do? You waltz right into my bedroom. To me.” He planted his lips on my neck.

Holy hell, I felt so intoxicated, my heart thrashed so loud, I didn’t know if that was really me talking. “I can’t waltz.”

“One-two-three, one-two-three,” he breathed to the stuttering beats of my heart. “But perhaps you’re better off focusing your efforts on learning self-preservation than dancing.” He kissed my throat; I squirmed when he gently sucked on the skin there.

“Can we come in?” a soft voice called from the hall.

Blushing, I struggled to free myself, but Edward merely readjusted me so that I was seated on his thigh, hand brushing over my folded legs. He nuzzled his face in my neck and breathed deeply, and I forgot all of the last five minutes.

Alice pranced in. My cheeks burned, but Edward seemed at ease. To Alice, there was nothing unusual of our embrace. She walked—danced, really — to the center of the room, where she folded herself onto the floor, grinning with her sharp canines. Jasper stood at the door. Did he look—shocked? He stared at us, then focused on Edward, and I wondered if he was tasting the atmosphere with his unusual sensitivity. If Edward noticed Jasper’s eyes—or heard his thoughts—he didn’t react. Except to hold me tighter.

"It sounded like you were about to have Isabella for lunch, and we came to see if you would share," Alice said.

"I doubt I’ll have enough for even me,” said Edward, peeking out from behind my neck and shoulders. I fought another shiver.

“We were wondering if you had a chance to speak with Carlisle,” murmured Jasper in a tight voice. “About what we talked about.”

“Not yet.”

“You should.”

They exchanged a look. Edward drummed the fingers of one hand on my lower ribs. “I already know what he’s going to say.” The room fell silent. At least to me. “Not now; we’ve got company.”

Edward caught Alice’s thoughts; she rolled her eyes. “What? You’re going to tell her eventually. You might as well just say it now, in the open. At least we can all get on the same page.”

I tensed and moved so I could see all of them. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Edward.

“You want to be safe, you should know the truth,” said Alice, shooting her brother a look. “James is planning another attack on us. With another nomad. Or two. Maybe.” My eyes widened.

Jasper’s lips twisted in disgust. “Meanwhile, we’re sittin’ on our hands waitin’ to come up with—"

“We have a plan,” snapped Edward. “We have values and we have priorities, and we will act accordingly. If you keep changing things, you’re only going to make it harder on Alice.”

Jasper’s eyes flashed. “I know my wife,” he said.

Edward smirked and raised a brow in response.

Which was exactly when Emmett popped his head in, all smiles. “Family meeting? Are we talking about the doom squad on its way?” His overjoyed eyes caught mine, and he grinned wider, taking in my presence with Edward. Those honey eyes contrasted brilliantly with his dewy umber skin in a way that made it seem like he had purplish undertones. “Man, this is crazy. I didn’t think it’d be, y’know, like this. You can touch her? Jesus. —Hiya, Bells. Nice to meetcha, officially. Name’s Emmett McCarty. I made the pie from last week.” I glanced at his bulky shoulders and thick hand, outstretched. Hesitating. “Edward made me practice shaking hands so I wouldn’t crush you. I can do it, I swear.”

I broke out into a laugh and seized his hand. “Bells Swan. Hi. I remember you. —Nice handshake.”

“Thanks, it’s an art.” Beat. “So? Doom squad? When’re they getting here?” 

The room exchanged looks. “They probably won’t come here,” said Edward with a shrug.

Alice muttered something under her breath.

Edward shot her a look. “Okay, they _might_ be in the area. At the house. Hours from now.”

“The French dude?”

“Just James and the mate,” said Alice.

“Oh, the third won’t come to play, hm?” said Jasper. It may have been the first genuine smile of his that I saw; a crooked grin that exposed a chipped canine.

“Damn. Woulda liked to see a fair fight, at least,” Emmett said, and the two boys laughed. Meanwhile, I was tracking every second, trying to keep my heartbeat and breathing even.

“I think Laurent broke off,” said Alice, lips pursing, eyes darting in the air in front of her. “The Denalis intercepted them some time back, and that’s the last I’ve seen him.”

Emmett whooped, smacking his hand on the doorframe. “Yeah, baby! See, now those Denali sisters, they know how to do diplomacy. Give ‘em the ole razzle-dazzle; _that’s_ how it’s done.”

Jasper and Edward shared the quickest glance, a short, tense conversation.

“So James and the mate are coming to negotiate peace terms. I don’t see violence,” said Alice, golden eyes soft.

“Well, keep me posted, I s’pose,” said Emmett. “Very least I can do is keep Rosie informed.”

“I told her not to go,” mumbled Alice.

“Oh, you know Rose never does a damn thing anyone tells her.” Emmett’s eyes became distant and dreamy for a moment. “What a woman.” The whole group, excluding me, either scoffed or rolled their eyes. “She’ll be careful, though, honest. I made her promise. She’s just not quite ready to, uh—adjust. Is all. She’ll be back in time for…whatever happens.” Emmett took a quick peek at me, and I blushed. “Trust me, I’m trying.”

“Sure you’d have an easier time trying to herd cows in a high school cafeteria,” Jasper quipped. Everyone snickered at the inside-joke.

“Rose didn’t seem to have a tough time with that one. So I guess there’s still hope for ‘er, eh? Where’s she going?” Emmett asked Alice with a nod towards her. “Lemme see if I can catch her off. We’ll just get into position from there, huh? Meet up with y’all once it starts?”

In a distracted, dreamlike voice she told him, “Check towards Piedmont, maybe? Keep your phone on you.”

Emmett gave the room a nod as if they’d confirmed his plan, and he bounded out of the room.

Edward’s voice cut through the silence. To Jasper, he said, “We still outnumber.”

“La Push is small enough to secure by yourself, Jas,” Alice chimed in. But Jasper only frowned deeper. Alice sprung to her tip-toes and went to the window, rocking back and forth on her heels as she thought. “Em will come in later for reinforcement, and odds are still good that we won’t need it. Problem solved.”

Problem not solved, according to Jasper’s expression.

There was no way for Alice to see his expression. Nonetheless, she turned to face him and said with plain confidence, “Don’t worry about being by the humans—”

“I’m not.”

“It’s all part of the gig, Jas.”

“I know.” When his eyes flashed, he looked at everyone but me. “Tell Carlisle what I told you,” Jasper said to Edward. “We could avoid this whole thing if we were smart about it.” Edward’s lips pursed, but Jasper never saw it; he had already left.

Edward, Alice, and I myself remained. Just like that. From the looks of things, the psychics were having yet another conversation. Once in a while, Edward formed wordless syllables—he had to make a decision to speak if he wanted Alice to see him— but they never once had to vocalize.

My face flushed a deep red. I had never been the jealous type—save for the rare occasions when Georgi would force it out of me. But I couldn’t watch them stare into each other’s eyes like they were.

“Bells, would you like to meet Carlisle now?” Edward’s voice snapped me to attention. Both vampires watched my face, so I kept it even.

I inhaled to muster up as much courage and maturity as I could. “Of course I am,” I said, rising from the couch.

By the way things sounded, I needed answers. Fast. Even if I wasn’t ready for them.

With a flash of her friendly eyes and an excited twirl, Alice wished me good luck, darting from the room.

This was it. I mean, they had already voted to meet them. To let me sit down with Carlisle.

But now it was real.

“Hey.” Edward stopped at the threshold of the door, where the dying afternoon light, drowning in a pool of stormclouds, slanted in our direction. His cold hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer into that cinnamon, that spark. Our breathing hitched. He didn’t speak for a moment. “Are you okay?”

 _I don’t know._ “You make it okay,” I replied. And it was true. I would be a lot more freaked out right now if he hadn’t been sucking up all my oxygen.

“I can’t tell if you’re editing.”

“It’s true; does that count?”

“You’ve nothing to worry about, sweet girl,” he murmured to me, ghosting a thumb over the pulse point at my throat. “Carlisle won’t bite. He’s never killed, in fact— Have I told you that?”

“Someone mentioned it,” I mumbled. My grip on his waist tightened. “It’s not—it’s not him, it’s—” _something else. What else?_ “You’re still gonna hold up your end of the deal, right? You'll stay by me?”

“Always,” he said, and he kissed my forehead.


	21. Chapter 16, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they discuss

Carlisle had predicted our entrance, of course.

There he stood at a corner floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, one foot propped on the footstool nestled in the corner, scanning an open book in his hand. Poised. Posed. On his large, dark-wood desk lay several documents in terrible handwriting. Behind the desk, and on the wall to Carlisle’s left, windows filtered fading light onto the Persian rug on the parquet flooring. Droplets of rain from darkened stormclouds tapped on the panes, throwing off the rhythm of the ticking wooden clock hanging by the doorway.

In a voice smoother than even Edward’s, he said, “Isabella. I’m so glad to finally have the chance to speak with you.”

“Likewise,” I said, then wondered if I should’ve said something more sophisticated. I blushed. 

“Please, sit, sit.” Carlisle gestured us into two brown leather armchairs sitting side-by-side in front of a large maple desk. As Carlisle pulled a red spine of a title from the shelf— _La Ciencia de los Sueños_ in flashing gold letters—he shelved the open book in his hand. He gestured with the book to Edward, and placed it on his desk; Edward nodded. His thumb stroked my hand.

From our spot in the chairs, a gold-framed painting. Like a priceless Renissance piece you’d find in an art museum. My eye caught the likeness immediately. A quartet of men, all with the faces of seraphs wearing sardonic smiles, stood on a balcony of soft pastels, overlooking a swirling mayhem of color—bodies. Of the four men, the singular blond on the far right was the only man who did not rest his hands on the gold railing, but rather had turned himself slightly away, closer to the shadow near the wood door. He had a softened, shyer smile.

Golden eyes.

His voice snapped me to attention. “Edward and Alice mentioned some concerns you have regarding your safety,” said Carlisle, talking with a light lilt. I nodded, shy. “And I can see how frightening it must feel, having been the target of malicious agitators.”

At the slightest tightening of my throat, I swallowed. “I guess I’m lucky that your family’s always there to save me,” I said, sheepish. Despite the reserved note his smile held, the warmth of it reached his eyes. “But, while I appreciate the protection, I’m hoping maybe there’s, I dunno, something I can do, maybe, to be less of a—” _problem. burden._ “inconvenience.”

“Well, may I say, firstly,” he said, “we’re delighted, truly, to be of assistance to you. Especially now that you’re part of Edward’s life, you’re part of our family, and we want to ensure your comfort and safety—both in the interim, and long term.” Despite his sharp canines, the smile spilling across his face calmed me.

“Thanks,” I said and hesitated. “I just…I hope there’s something I can do. If not for you, at least for myself.”

“There is something you can do for us, in fact,” he said, slipping into the padded chair behind the large desk. He leaned back, tenting his fingers. “Normally, the unique nature of your mind wouldn’t be any concern of ours, much less require any action. But with your recent—scuffle, shall we say—with outsiders, we do feel it prudent to begin discussing measures for your long-term safety. This begins with understanding how your mind operates in relation to Alice and Edward’s gifts. If we can get a read on you, this will eliminate much of our dilemma vis a vis ensuring your safety.”

My shoulders loosened. Edward squeezed my hand. “So what would I need to do?”

Carlisle’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he was figuring it out himself. “Like many gifted vampires, Edward and Alice’s abilities do necessitate a certain degree of intimacy, which we hope is where the solution lies. Have they explained to you how their gifts work?”

“Kinda. Somewhat.”

“Well, in Alice’s case, reading your future involves analyzing outcomes from a set of images. Much like a photographer choosing her strongest shots. Immediate choices have clear images that point to a specific conclusion. Choices that are weeks, months, years into the future—their outcomes are harder to read because they get lost in all the visions of antecedent choices. The efficacy of Alice’s gift—that is, being able to easily read your immediate and distant future—lies in familiarizing herself with a person’s behavioral patterns. The more Alice understands you, the further out she can predict your future.”

A grin lit up my face. “So what you’re saying is, we should be best friends.”

From downstairs, a high-pitched voice yipped, “Yes!” and Carlisle and I chuckled. Edward mustered nothing more than a smirk.

“It would certainly eliminate much of the guesswork in determining potential hazards. Which brings me to Edward’s ability to—well, surely you’ve spoken about it to her, yes?”

Edward nodded. I replied, “Edward said he’s like a radio tuned to a certain frequency where he can hear everyone’s thoughts all the time. He says he’s on FM and thinks I’m on the AM.” When I stole a glance in his direction, Edward’s small smile made him look slightly dazzled.

Carlisle’s light laugh plinked around the room. “Quite the apt description, as far as we understand it, yes. In Edward’s case, the efficacy of his gift lies in attuning himself to a specific voice. When he becomes familiar with the patterns and timbre of someone’s inner monologue, he can easily identify that voice among more people. He can pick up on that voice over greater physical distances—even see through their eyes, in some cases. Whereas a stranger can be read from a few blocks away, Edward can hear and see any one of us for miles.”

That struck me. Not the power of it—though that, too, was its own marvel. No, it was the casualness in the way Carlisle spoke about the lack of privacy. How did Edward’s family feel, having a psychic like that in the family? No one could ever hold their tongue; Edward knew everyone’s unspoken thoughts. Edward knew everyone’s secrets. Always. He could see exactly where they were, what they were doing.

He could look in on their most intimate moments. If he wanted to.

At Edward’s sneaking glance to me, my inner monologue silenced.

“That’s…interesting,” I said.

Carlisle smirked. Edward’s eyes clouded over; he tore his attention away.

“Put together, Edward and Alice serve as our first line of defense. Most of our threats are neutralized simply by virtue of careful coordination and preparation. Accuracy and cooperation are critical to their success.” Carlisle gave Edward a tight smile. Edward grimaced.

“So?” I asked in a soft voice. “Where do we start? What’s the short-term plan?”

As he spoke, Carlisle rose to scan the bookshelf to the right of his desk. His index finger brushed over several titles. “We must determine where this discrepancy lies. That is: Is this unique circumstance a failure of Edward and Alice? Or do you possess some power to block them?

“Alice can read me,” I pointed out.

“Rarely and inaccurately,” Edward said. “None of her predictions this morning were true.”

“Yes,” mused Carlisle. “I am inclined to believe that you inhibit their abilities in some manner. Perhaps not enough to block them, however. Therein lies our hope for success. If it’s simply the case of developing a stronger connection to you, then our short-term path forward requires building a baseline level of trust and intimacy. We can re-evaluate and adjust our strategy as needed while we collect more data.”

I tried to keep the heat from rising to my face. Embarrassed, almost. Disappointed. Sitting there, in the study of a nearly four-hundred-year-old vampire and his one-hundred-year-old son, it just dawned on me: Short-term meant something different to all of us.

Carlisle drawled on about building “trust and intimacy” like you could snap your fingers and have it done in a second. Of course he thought that way; a decade to him probably felt like a month.

Even Edward, by the looks of his face, didn’t find it unreasonable. Trust and intimacy, sure. Build it, boom. Done.

But if “trust and intimacy” was my only path to safety, what the hell would I do in the meantime? It would take months, minimum—and then what? What happened if it didn’t work?

Even if it did, I would still, in the end, be completely dependent on Edward and Alice. Their gifts. Their presence.

Though both men stole glances in my direction, Carlisle continued as if he had simply been listening to the clock tick. “Our first priority should be getting Alice to read you.”

“How soon can we start?” I asked, drumming the fingers of my free hand on the chair’s arm.

“In the coming days or weeks, if you consent, we’ll administer a simple test to determine her level of accuracy. Once we have numbers in front of us, it’ll be easier to see the long road ahead.”

Days? Weeks? No. I had nightmares every night. I had green lights flashing in my eyes. I had been stalked just a few weeks ago by a vampire. Did I have days and weeks? “What about in the meantime?” I said, sentence slowing with every word.

“Edward will protect you, of course.” I deflated, but Carlisle didn’t see it. He pulled a leatherbound journal from the shelf, setting it on the desk as he returned to the chair. Though he flipped it to a blank page, the pages preceding held a messy blend of calligraphy, cursive, and chickenscratch. I opened my mouth to speak, but Carlisle, not looking up, said, “This seems the best short- and long-term solution, as I imagine you’ll be spending much time together. With Edward’s gift being completely blocked, it may take a much deeper level of familiarity before we can discuss causes and alternative treatments.” Then he did look up at us. “If you haven’t yet begun, I am happy to discuss ways in which you and Edward can safely build intimacy.”

Booming laughter from downstairs—definitely Jasper’s. Maybe my blood rushing to my face will boil away and melt me alive.

Edward shifted back, grimacing. “Shouldn’t we learn everything we can about _la tua cantante_ before we go forward with something that might put her at risk?”

Carlisle blinked. Edward’s face fell. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now.” No doubt, Carlisle would’ve continued his train of thought telepathically, had he not stolen a glance in my direction. “Surely, she is your singer. Is she _la tua cantante_? I am inclined to think not.”

Edward frowned, shook his head, mouth open. “No. We’ve talked about this, I told you, this is unlike anything I’ve seen in others.”

Carlisle leaned in, forearms on the desk. “And I told you that without consulting Aro and Marcus, it would be near-impossible for us to know for certain. I should hate to go to the Volturi unnecessarily.”

“I’m not asking to get the Volturi involved. You said you there were books, resources.”

“Thirdhand accounts in books of folklore, yes. And I’ll be happy to procure whatever texts exist from our allies and the estate. But unless we have evidence that suggests otherwise, we should operate on the more conservative, more likely theory that Isabella is your singer. We at least have a knowledgebase to guide us there. To consider her _la tua cantante_ —" Even in the face of Edward’s glare, he couldn’t help an amused, sympathetic smile. “Oh, my son.”

“I fail to see the humor.”

“You’re but a hundred years old!”

“So what?”

“Edward, there are vampires decuple your age who have walked this earth having never experienced this phenomenon. You yourself have no frame of reference as to what a singer may feel like to you. Every singer is different.”

“And you have no frame of reference for _la tua cantante_ ,” Edward quipped.

“This is true. I conceded this point. But I can assure you: From what I have heard in my nearly four-hundred years of life, you could not sit in the same room as her, much less hold her hand as you are now.” The hand that held mine winced, cracking two of my knuckles. Edward pulled away. “How you choose to go about your relationship is your business. But don’t let the unorthodoxy of it lull you into a false sense of exceptionalism. You should be thankful she is your singer and not _la tua cantante_.”

Edward’s jaw tightened. “I think you’re wrong.” His eyes blanked.

“Then I will pray for the both of you that I am not,” Carlisle said. The years that flashed across his face intimidated me to the point of dropping my gaze, cheeks flushed. Who knew if Edward was even listening. He held the same expression all the while. “I have heard few stories of _la tua cantante_ , but all were tales of horror. I wish your mind wouldn’t go to such—"

“She _what_?” Edward shot out of the chair, on hand coming to rest on the side of his head. A touch of shock crossed Carlisle’s face. I flinched from the noise. “Stop her, for god’s sake!”

Alice barreled into the study, so reckless she tore the doorhandle off and crushed it in her right hand as she spoke. “Edward. Please. She didn’t know.”

“She absolutely did know, Alice. You told her specifically not to go hunting and what does she do?” growled Edward.

“Emmett’s flagging her down; it’ll be fine. James and Victoria might miss her.”

Edward and Alice shared another look. A silent conversation.

From his place at the desk, Carlisle said, “Edward. Alice. Speak. Is Rose in danger?”

Alice’s eyes darted. “No. She’s tracking prey that will come within their path. It’s possible she’ll get off the scent if she realizes—” Her fingers fluttered at her side, picked at her flawless cuticles. Visions flashed through her eyes. “But if the nomads get on her trail, Carlisle, we’ll need to leave soon. If they start following Rose, she’s going to lure them to the line. She's assuming we'll meet her there.”

“What are the odds they track her?”

Alice stole a guilty look at Edward, whose fist clenched at his side. “Above fifty percent. Less than sixty. For now.”

With a soft, small nod, Carlisle rose from the desk. His journal fluttered shut as his touch. “Can you call her?”

“She won’t answer me.”

Edward’s whole expression raged hot anger, wheeling on Alice. “You really had to make that comment to her at the meeting, didn’t you?”

“Better to be honest than to take the coward’s route like y—”

“Please,” Carlisle interrupted, voice laced with authority. “Not here. Alice, how long do we have?”

“Hour and a half. Maybe.”

“Alice, get in touch with Emmett. He can intercept her. Can you see the nomads’ end game?”

Carlisle and Edward looked to Alice, who had fallen back into the future. “La Push,” Edward muttered, expression darkening. His eyes flashed to Carlisle, who gave him a nod. “I know. I can be back in time to join Jasper.”

"Jasper can handle himself. We’ll need you at the line,” said Carlisle.

Edward and Alice shared another glance, but he replied, “If you insist.” His eyes locked to mine. I nearly wilted. “We have to go.”

I rose and gave a backwards look to Carlisle. Despite the chaos of the situation, the assuredness written on his serene expression was enough to calm my gnawing fear.

Without a word, Alice dug into the pocket of her jeans and tossed Edward a new phone. With a sharp nod to the device, she warned him as she exited: “Don’t throw it into the woods. Trust me.” She darted away just as Edward’s brow furrowed—confused?

We shuffled out of the room. Or I did, anyway. Edward stopped at the door and turned to Carlisle. His knuckles turned white gripping the crown molding of the doorway. Edward pursed his lips. “Carlisle, one last thing,” he ground out. “Jasper and I really want to address—”

“Peace offering,” Carlisle stated, straightening. “You had your chance to speak your piece. Violence will not help us here. You, Alice, and I will cut them off at the Olympic line and discuss terms with James. You know my thoughts on the matter.”

Edward closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. The wood squeaked under his grip. “He’s the Volturi’s puppet; simply deterring him won’t stop—”

“We stand by our values regardless of species or ‘team.’”

“So Alice should suffer because—”

“Our philosophy was never up for discussion,” said Carlisle, authority lacing his words. “We know what we believe. We act in accordance to our values. It pains me to have to remind you of this again.”

Edward turned his head towards the hallway, towards me. The murderous expression flickering across his face made it seem like he wished their philosophy had been up for a vote.

“She’s family,” Edward said, his stubbornness raising his own voice.

“And she is not the only member.” Carlisle raised a hand to Edward. “We have discussed what was up for discussion. I have spoken. Listen and follow.” A moment of silence passed. Edward left. I followed.

Everyone had disappeared. Everything fell apart.

Every window had been flung open, dropping the house to a temperature even cooler than before. Rain spattered through the screened windows, pattered onto the floor. It soaked and fluttered the curtains. I shook. Despite the chaos of rain, the house looked like the set for some photoshoot. Beautiful. Cold.

“Is everything okay?” I whispered to him as we trailed down the stairs. Meanwhile, Esme had rushed into the living room with a bucket of cleaning products, a vaccuum, and rubber gloves. She jumped to work, furiously polishing the wood surfaces, filling the house with a fake lemon scent.

Edward, pinching the bridge of his nose, said, “I don’t know what about this situation shocks you. I told you the probable outcome.”

“Huh?”

“Well if you want to talk to him, talk to him. I’ve done what I can do. —Even if Rose can’t get it together, we have a good chance of cutting them off before they can cause any real damage. —Well I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Jas. I don’t have that authority. —Did you say something?”

He hadn’t heard what said? Didn’t notice? “I asked if everything’s okay.”

“Oh. Everything’s fine, darling,” he told me, flashing a tight smile. Then his eyes darkened, and he muttered, “No, I’m not bringing it up. You bring it up.”

From the way his tone morphed with the different sentences, I could tell he was holding several conversations at one time. How did he manage to keep everything straight? “Everything isn’t fine, clearly,” I said, scanning his deepening frown lines. “What’s happening? Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

As soon as we hit the bottom step, Edward zipped to the door, holding it open for me. He placed a hand on my back as I hustled past him and led me into the storming night. He didn’t speak again until he shut the door behind me, darkness swallowing us. Inside the house, the vacuum roared to life.

“Everything will be fine,” he said as we navigated the front steps. “Everything’s— Esme, can’t you reason with him yourself? I don’t have time. —Everything’s fine. The Volturi will turn a blind eye to whatever James is planning, surely. But we’re the Olympia Coven. We officially have claim to this territory.” Edward never finished. He pursed his lips instead, expression darkening further. He clawed a hand through his hair. “What’s gotten into you, Jasper? Carlisle knows what he’s doing. Alice has seen it; you’ll be fine. —Because I trust him, that’s why.” He huffed, hissing something under his breath.

“Edward, what’s happening? I skidded on a slippery step and Edward’s hand shot around my waist, collecting me before I could fall.

“Nothing is happening. Yet. The future is still uncertain. If Rose’s path intersects with James’ and his mate’s, we’ll meet them all at the Olympic line. From there, we’ll encourage them to broker some temporary peace deal between us.” At that, he grimaced, casting his eyes to the stars, back again. “That’s the only reason why I’m quick to get you out. If they stop by, they may pick up on your scent. I don’t trust them.” Edward opened up the passenger door for me and slid into the driver’s side as soon as the passenger door slammed beside me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I don’t wanna put anyone in danger—”

His face fell slightly. “No, please. We’ll have people here to keep the house protected. I just want to keep you safe.” He laughed in that exhausted, painful, _‘how the hell am I gonna do this’_ way that made my heart sink. “Our relationship may be unorthodox, but this is...it’s the first time that I….” His lips twisted with agonizing grief.

“Me too,” I said.

The car roared to life and spun off. Edward swallowed, eyes darkening by the second. But his right hand drifted from the wheel over the console, and I reached for it. Though cold never failed to shock me, it ignited a sense of warm calm. Powerful enough to override the uncertainty and anxiety of everything else. “I know.” His voice was soft and tender, touch tingled with electricity. If we weren’t running away from nomads, I would’ve grabbed him and kissed him. As it was: “If—Bells, if, if you truly do feel…as I do…please. Will you promise me you’ll go to Phoenix? If, if things don’t go as planned?”

My heart thudded to my feet. I had to swallow the dryness from my throat before I could speak. “What? Why?” Leave, after all that I said to Charlie? Leave, not knowing when I’d see Edward again? “Alice said—”

“Forget what Alice said,” he said. “I can’t gamble on the future like she can. And right now, I trust Alice just about as much as I trust the nomads. Please. Go home.”

“This is home.” Again, he grimaced. I spoke, louder than I should have, to keep us from talking about it. “You won’t have to…fight them or anything, will you? It won’t come to that, will it? D’you think?”

Even then, he spoke softly. “If they manage to get into La Push, it will come to that, yes.” The speedometer kept creeping up. Outside, trees flashed us in a blur of blacks and greens.

“Why La Push?”

“We have an obligation to our allies. Vampires may not enter the town or the surrounding area. We are obligated to kill those who violate this rule.” Horror flashed across my face. “But. There are enough of us to stave them off, even if we are vegetarian. As Emmett said, it won’t be a fair fight.”

Then Edward’s eyes widened, darting across the length of the windshield. “—Wait, wait, stop, _Emmett_.” As soon as he reached for the phone in the cupholder, it buzzed angrily against the plastic. He flipped it open. “Don’t call me, call Emmett. Stop him; he’s too far out, he won’t be back in time. What are you waiting for?” Pause. “Forget about my future. Call Emmett. Stick to the plan.” Pause. Meanwhile, the speedometer kept inching up. “I can’t do this on my own; I can’t sit and pick through your head every— No, Alice! Your fault. Yours. Stop putting this on my— _You_ call Emmett. I’ll handle Jasper."

“Edward, slow down,” I told him, tugging at his sleeve.

He brushed me off, flipping the clamshell phone closed and back open again. “I have to stop her. Oh, Christ.” Without even looking at the road, he dialed, pinching the phone between his ear and shoulder. “So help me god, Jasper, if you send me to voicemail—” He cut the rest of his sentence off with a snarl and slammed the phone shut. He winced, clutching his head. “Dammit, everyone—”

“Slow down,” I panted.

“—shouting, all the time. —Jasper, pick up the phone!” The phone snapped shut again. Edward growled, scanning the empty air in front of him. “He’s not in La Push.”

“Edward.”

He startled, like my voice was what reminded me I was there. Though we still sped, the trees began to flash by our window at a slower pace. “The nomads keep changing plans. First it’s two coming to meet us, now it’s one, suddenly it’s all of— I think they’re trying to skirt around Alice’s visions. I think they’re trying—”

I inhaled sharply. “Trying to trick her.”

“Christ Almighty.” He slammed on the brakes. The car screamed and I choked on my seatbelt. By the time I fell back in my seat, Edward swerved the car into park and bolted from his seat, stumbling into the night with his door flung open. “Oh, god, oh my god, no, Alice, no! Don’t you _dare_!” he shouted into the ringing phone. “Answer me! I know you can see me! Dammit, Alice, _call_!” But no one picked up, and he cursed her.

Snapping the phone shut again, Edward cocked his arm back, ready to launch his cell phone into the woods.

Just as he jerked his arm forward, the phone lit up and buzzed.

He flipped it open and immediately started shouting into it, voice a lost echo in the woods. Concrete fractured under his heels as he paced across the street. “Get your head out of the future! You’re throwing away all the plans we made because you’re so convinced— No, I’m _not_ on your side. —Forget ‘best possible outcome;’ what about— No, _no_. I can’t keep following you around fixing all the mistakes you make. Yes, it _is_ a mistake. Jasper’s not answering me. You told him it was off before you even called me, didn’t you? I knew you were going to do this, I _knew_ —”

The rest of his conversation was a string of animalistic growls that could have very well been a string of filthy, cutting curses and insults. Through the garbled, inhuman sounds, I couldn’t catch a single word.

Until he shouted, every word like its own curse: “Mary Alice Brandon Cullen!”

Then he dropped his phone, snarled again, turned to punch the nearest pine. With a sickening crack and a groan, the ancient tree collapsed in on itself and fell into the arms of the forest, snapping the limbs of surrounding trees that attempted to break its fall. I covered my mouth to muffle my gasp, and it turned into a breathless squeak.

The vampire heard me, of course.

His black eyes snapped in my direction.

Nothing in the world made a sound, save for the heartbeat in my ears.

Maybe the same was true for him.

As the sound of the fallen tree settled, replaced by the angry buzzing of Edward’s cell phone on the pavement, Edward took a sharp step towards me.

I flinched back, heart racing. So did he. Then he stumbled onto the cracked country road and fell to a knee. Squeezing his eyes shut and hissing, his hands gripped his head. The phone never stopped vibrating.

“Hey,” I whispered, voice faltering. “Edward, are you okay?”

He shuddered, propped on his forearms, curling into himself. He wore the same expression that day he picked me up in Port Angeles, the inhuman snarl that hinted at sharp teeth and animal eyes.

 _Say something,_ he commanded me that day. _Talk._

How could I talk when I couldn’t breathe? What could I say to him? He shook, digging his forehead into the concrete like it was sand.

The more time that passed in silence, the louder his growl grew. A tear of menacing sound that made me squeeze my eyes shut. All I could focus on was the _ding ding ding_ from Edward’s open door and the 80’s pop whispering over the radio.

This was why I so desperately needed to know how to protect myself. For the Just In Case.

Not just in case the nomads came.

It was about keeping myself safe. From all vampires.

From Edward, the vampire.

I tried to breath to get my under control. But it stumbled over itself at my realization, battered painfully against my ribs. My eyes were glued to the crumpled, frozen shape of him.

_Do something, do something!_

“Hey," I whispered. "Edward. Look at me.”

His eyes flashed to mine. His. Even in the inky black of his irises, there was some spark of recognition. And it was my only advantage. “No. Hey. Keep your eyes on me. Listen. I dunno what you need to hear right now, but you can do this. You’ll keep it together. You will. You don’t need the future. You’ve got right now. And you’re smart. And you’re kind. And you’ve got me.” His growl had died, flickering new hope inside me. “I can help you—if, if talking helps. It helped last time. I dunno. Tell me what’s wrong.”

"It helps. Yes." Still shaking, he ground out, “Loud,” as his phone kept buzzing on the pavement. “Everyone. Can’t hear myself think. I heard—I’m trying to focus on—" Edward rubbed his face and raked his fingers through his hair, curled further into himself. When he touched a hand to his forehead again, it occurred to me that all this time, he had been hearing the chaos of his family change plans on top of tracking the nomads and Alice on top of listening to everyone who happened to be in a few miles’ range on top of worrying about me. “Bells, you have to breathe.” He bit the last word.

 _My heartbeat. My blood._ I breathed deep. Even. "Sorry."

“No,” he said. But he didn’t look at me when he said it. Probably because he didn’t want to flash me his black eyes. “Everything’s loud. Everyone’s angry. I’m—” He bit down again.

“What’s your family saying? Or, uh, thinking?” Judging by his buzzing phone, they were doing both.

Edward gritted his teeth and closed his eyes shut, crumbling chunks of cement in his hands like they were mounds of brown sugar. Unsteady, he rose so fast I flinched back. We caught eyes, but he broke away before I could see the guilt. “Alice is following her future. Again. My family—Someone’s trying to—” His sentence broke off in a snarl. He squeezed his eyes shut again. He swiped his phone, still buzzing, off the ground.

Hair rose on the back of my neck; shivers tingled across my face, my arms, my spine. I instinctively held my breath from the tension.

Edward froze. Eyes widened, shocked, darting through the forests around us.

Maybe I didn't have freaky vampire senses. Maybe it was just my imagination.

But it couldn't stop my brain from whispering: _Oh, my god. He's out there._

Edward lunged into the car, jolting me back.

My hand scrambled to unlock the door to escape him; my heart raced. By the time I found it, he had peeled the car away from the shoulder. All with his eyes on my shaking frame. On my hand. He looked away.

I withdrew slowly, guiltily. Looked down.

Edward pressed the slightly deformed phone to his ear. “Carlisle,” he said, voice as hoarse as a vampire’s could get. “Alice is gone. Someone’s breeched the Forks High route; I can hear someone, a man, far away. Tell Jasper. –And tell the family to stop talking at me.” And he hung up. He rubbed his forehead again, leaving behind sediment stains from the road he demolished.

He gave me another glance to me, to the hand that had reached for the door. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. His lips pursed.

Shit. Dammit. Why’d I have to react like that? “I’m sorry.”

Edward’s face fell; he frowned. “Sorry?”

I shrunk. _Shit._ “F-For panicking. For being scared. I know it doesn’t help when my heart’s fast and stuff, and I—”

“You’re _sorry_ for being scared? Bells, that’s—”

“It’s not because of you,” _kinda_ , “it’s because of the nomads.”

We sped up. Edward’s knuckles whitened and his lips pursed. “Don’t edit. Not to yourself.”

“No, it’s not, please, that situation is totally different than this.”

“It is _not_ ‘totally different,’” he said, hands shaking on the wheel. We blew a red light; my neck snapped back to watch it disappear in the rear window. “Do you not see that it’s the same? Did you see what happened to me not ten minutes ago? Those nomads out there _are me._ That’s my life. I’m a vampire. On top of everything else, you’re _la_ —you’re my— _singer_.” He spat the word like it was bitter to the tongue. With weight, like he was trying to believe it. “These situations are much more similar than you think. You _should_ be afraid.”

 _I know._ I swallowed, breathed, keeping a fresh tide of panic at bay. No, I couldn’t think about this now. “Is Alice going to be okay?” Pause. “Keep talking. You need to talk.” At least I could keep him in reality, that way.

“There’s a reason why we say you never bet against Alice. Alice can pick the ‘best future’ and realize it, even if it’s not a strong image. She’s like a grandmaster playing a chess game. You’d never bet against the grandmaster.”

“Is she going to kill him? What’s happening? Is she okay?”

He ignored me. “Alice plays a sloppy game when it comes to James. No one wants to listen to me, no one wants to admit it, but it’s true. Alice especially doesn’t want to admit it. I’ve told her a million times her confidence is going to get her in trouble."

"So, she's not okay."

Edward looked at me. Dropped his eyes. He breathed in, breathed, out, gripped the steering wheel, released.

And that’s when he said: “Listen to me, Bells. You need to get out of here. Immediately. You need to get the first one-way ticket out of Forks and you need to stay there.”

“What? Leave, what, are you kidding? Wh-what about Charlie?”

“Forget about Charlie. You have a reasonable cover-up. Say you needed space and went to stay with Georgi. Just for a few hours, a day or so—”

“No. I’m not leaving. I have to apologize, I have to make sure Charlie’s—”

“Forget apologies. This is life or death for you,” he said. “James doesn’t care about your father. They have no reason to harm the police chief.” Reaching over the console, he opened the glove box. Inside was a band of crisp hundred-dollar bills that he took out and handed to me. I froze. “You need to put as much distance as you can between yourself and this situation. Take it.”

The scent of cinnamon and cloves and blacktop made my head spin. I sputtered. “You, you keep stacks of cash in your glovebox?”

“You can avoid a lot of unnecessary situations with enough money. Take it.”

“I don’t want it. I’m not going. Where’d you even get this?!”

“You need to learn how to pick your battles, Isabella,” he told me in a sharp voice. “I’m on your side. If you’re afraid that the nomads will harm you if you happen to be in their path, or that they’ll harm Charlie trying to get to you, then you need to leave. Think of how your father would feel if you got hurt or killed, his only daughter. If you cared about Charlie, you _would_ leave, for his sake. That is the sensible thing to do, whether you like it or not. That is the unedit.”

Another wave of fear crawled up the back of my chest, the back of my throat. I swallowed it back. “I— No, I need time to—”

“There is no time. We’re out of time. I need you to understand that.”

Another wave; my voice rose. “No, there can’t, it— I needed to know how to defend myself. That’s why I went— And now I—" _How am I supposed to stay alive?_ “I don’t know anything, I don’t know what to do, what if I need to—”

“I know. I know. Carlisle wasn’t helpful for either of us. He doesn’t understand that we—” but Edward cut off there, jaw hardening. “I know you didn’t get the answers you were looking for. We can talk later. But you want to know how you protect yourself and Charlie, right now? Pack your bag. Go to the nearest airport. Take the next flight—wherever it goes. The longer the better. Call me after you land. Only me, no one else. Do you understand?” He waved the money again. “This will cover everything, whatever you need, no strings attached. Don’t think about it.”

As we skidded onto my block, he dropped the money into my lap. My fingers, shaking curled around it. Then my whole body shook.

“Is this—?” _overkill?_ It had to be. He couldn’t be serious. He was overreacting when he said I needed to fly to a random location as soon as humanly possible. Right? “I don’t think, I mean, I can’t just—”

“If you won't go, I'll go with you.” His eyes pierced mine. "We'll do it together."

“No,” I shouted, eyes widening. He protested, but I spoke over him, huffing. “What, you're just going to abandon everyone? Put everyone at risk?” Bile rose up the back of my throat.

“They don’t matter. They don't need me."

"Yes they _do_ ; are you kidding me?"

"I can keep you safe; I’ll take care of everything.”

“No," I thundered. "Don't. Don’t break your promise to everyone. Your family needs you, your allies need you, and I—I don't. I just need you to watch over Charlie. Just in case. I can handle myself. I'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. They're headed towards La Push anyway. I probably won't even run into—" I switched gears at the sight of his warning glance. "But I’ll—I’ll go. I’ll leave.” I inhaled; _calm down_. When I caught him looking at me, I smoothed my expression. “If you think it’s best to go, I…I trust you.” I opened the door; it swung closed from the pounding wind and rain outside.

Edward’s voice was soft and shy. “You’re exceptionally brave, Isabella. Thank you.”

 _Yeah? Well I don’t feel it._ “Just—come back. Please come back. Don’t get hurt. And. And don’t worry. And everything’s going to be okay,” I added, softer. Both of us faltered at that. But I could be confident to look him in the eye and say, “You can do this, y’know.”

“I know. And so can you.”

“I know.” Smiles simmered at our lips. How was it possible that he was my anchor despite everything, even in the tension and anger and fear? Even as I stepped into the lashing wind and rain, underneath all the stress and jitters was this quiet calm of energy between us. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him how much I cared for him, but I didn’t know how—I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to tell him how much I— sort've— maybe— loved him. Just a little. 

“Goodbye kiss?” I asked him, hair blustered by the breeze.

It was the first time he’d smiled in hours. Even if it was small and sad. “I’ll be sure to give you a hell of a hello kiss next time I see you.” He said softly. “I promise.”

“You better keep it.”

“Always.”

Before the tears could sting my eyes, I nodded. I left.

He spun off. Leaving me with nothing but the glow of light from the kitchen light inside.

So there I stood on the front lawn in the middle of a storm. Holding ten thousand dollars in cash. Wondering how the hell I was gonna keep myself alive until dawn.

Wondering if Edward would ever forgive me if I ended up lying to his face.


	22. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she escapes

Nighttime came early.

Shadows lurked in every corner and crevice when I burst through the door, shoes squelching. Wind and rain and stress had stolen my breath before the anxiety could. I collapsed in a wet heap in the hallway. Sucked in air. Again. _Even breathing._

Droplets from my sopping clothes and hair smacked the wood floors, formed a puddle underneath me. I counted them to keep my head on my shoulders.

Outside, the hiss of wind and spitting rain served as white noise.

_Calm down._

A chill stole through the air, then. The hairs on the back of my neck stood.

I lifted my head.

From my place on the floor the hallway stretched a million miles ahead of me, swallowed by shadows. My nerves twisted; I braced myself with whatever courage I had left and called out, “Charlie?”

No response.

I rubbed the back of my neck, shook my head. I yanked my oxfords off my feet and threw them aside. In long strides, I sprinted to the stairs, tripping over myself as I clambered up the steps.

Bursting into my bedroom, I threw the damp stack of cash on the bed and snatched my schoolbag from the desk chair, dumping out the contents on the floor. I stripped the wet clothes from my body.

All the while that I packed, my mind reeled through thoughts, _Where the hell was the nearest airport? God, where am I going?_ as I ripped open the dresser drawers and scooped up several pairs of socks and underwear, dressing myself and packing the rest— _Phoenix would be too close, too unsafe for Rene—_ Another drawer, t-shirts and jeans— _I never found that band tee from when Edward came over; did I lose it?_ A pack of charcoal from the desk, _had to get my sketchbook; where was my sketchbook?—_ Lastly, I ripped open the closet doors, reaching for the Midnight Kit: a special tin of cash and important documents and memories that I could grab on a moment’s notice whenever Rene and I had to—

Hair prickled the back of my neck, painful.

Sharp inhale. I frowned. Frozen.

Something smelled—sweet. In my closet. Cloying sweet. Like…like brown sugar? No, like—caramelized sugar, maybe. Like molasses. Syrupy sweet.

Another sniff. I wrinkled my nose, examining my hamper. I scratched the back of my neck to keep shivers from running down it.

 _Alice,_ my mind chanted while I sprung back into action, packing my things. Why? She always reminded me of vanilla buttercream; nothing like this. _Alice_. My mind flashed images of her. Some related memory? My mind flickered through images. At the Cullens’ earlier today. In the girl’s bathroom at school. In my bedroom. In the rocking chair by my closet.

I had thought she smelled dirty laundry that day she came over, when she sniffed and wrinkled her nose.

 _Too sugary_ , she said at the house.

I ripped the zippers closed on the backpack and stuffed my head back in the closet, inhaling again.

This was what she was smelling. The molasses _. “Too sugary.”_

I didn’t smell like that. Not according to Edward. Not according to me.

My mind blanked. Goosebumps erupted on my skin. In the silence of the house, I tried to search for some noise of an intruder. All I could hear was the pattering of fat rain droplets at my window. The ghostly moans of blustering wind rattling the house.

_No time, no time_

I sprinted down the stairs, bag slung over my shoulder. The hanging light in the kitchen guided my way through a shadowy home. It illuminated lazy floating motes under its gaze.

From the bottom of the steps, my eye caught my open sketchbook on the kitchen table, forgotten from this morning.

Next to it sat Charlie’s blue thermos. And his lunch bag.

And his gun belt.

Panic gripped me; I swallowed it back.

“Charlie?” I called again, louder. Glanced over my shoulder.

No answer.

I handled the lunch bag, the thermos, ran my fingers over the deep impressions I had made on the paper. Charlie must’ve been paging through it. A lake in a forest, sketched in wild lines of charcoal.

I flipped the page.

Lake in a forest.

Nausea churned my stomach.

I flipped the page again. Lake in a forest.

Heart pounding, I flipped the page again. Lake in a forest. I flipped it again—lake in a forest—and again—lake in a forest—and again—lake in a forest, through every page: Lake in a forest. Lake in a forest. Lake in a forest. Lake. Forest. At sunset. Dawn. Midnight. Pages turned and colors faded from my art, from the oranges and yellows of the sunset to black, to black, to _black_.

Then pages of pages of lake in a forest had threads of green lights drifting through the trees. Like snakes. Like silk ribbons. Like thunderbolts. The same ones I had seen when I had dropped Ang off on Friday.

How could I have so many drawings? _When did I—?_

I rubbed my forehead with my index and thumb. Glanced at the thermos again. _Something’s not right, something’s not right_ —

Why would he forget it? The thermos, okay, sure—the soup’s not all that great since I had made it on zero hours of sleep a few days prior and okay, yeah, I’m sure the lunch bag is just filled with those little snack-pack bags of Lays and baby carrots since I didn’t have time to go to the store today so maybe he purposefully left his dinner and planned on getting country-fried steak the diner after work and that’s why he left his bag and the gun belt—

Hands shaking, I punched in Charlie’s number.

No answer.

_Don’t do this, Charlie, don’t do this._

Dialed again.

No answer.

Dialed— _Dammit Charlie, pick up the phone!_

Nothing.

I swallowed down more air even as my throat constricted.

Dialed; this time, I had to read the handwritten number on the notecard that was posted on the landline. _Keep it together. You’re freaking out._

_“Forks Police Department.”_

My breath caught. “H-Hi. It’s Isabella. Swan. Ch-Charlie’s daughter. Uh.” My fingernails picked at the sketchbook paper. I flipped the page. Glanced down. Lake in a forest. Swallowed.

 _“How can I help you?”_ said the man on the line.

I flipped the page again.

Lake in a forest.

My heart fluttered. _Damn it, stop._

“Um. Is my dad there?” I asked, leaning on my forearms over the kitchen table, facing the gaping black of the living room. The darkness of the house clawed away at my nerves. “He forgot his lunch. And his belt. A-and I kinda need to talk to him. About. Something.” My fingers picked at pages; I flipped one.

_“Car trouble, eh?”_

Lake in a forest.

“What?”

_“Car trouble, right? Engine not turning over? Yeah, he called us not ten minutes ago, told us. Said he was gonna be late. Said you called needing a ride home? He’s already on his way over.”_

I felt like I had swallowed dry ice.

My eyes caught The Thing from outside the kitchen window.

 _Liar. Charlie lied. Charlie_ lied _. To the_ police _._

“Over?”

_“To the Cullens, he said.”_

No words came even as my mouth twitched over soundless syllables.

The—what? There? Now? No, _no_ , what the hell, Charlie, not the Cullens’, no! Not now. Not with the nomads coming.

Oh god, _oh god_.

 _You have got to be_ fucking _kidding me._

_“I’m not kidding, ma’am.”_

_ShitdidIsaythatoutloud—_ “Uhh ‘kay sorry have a good night thanks,” I blurted, and I cut the line.

The _Cullens’_?!

Mouth closed, I screamed and paced, pulling at my hair. Squeezed the knots out of my shoulders. When the hair on the back of my neck stood, I rubbed it with my palm. And I looked into the dark living room.

Okay. Okay. Focus. I’m not going to freak out. I know enough not to panic in panic-inducing situations. I’ve had to bolt in the middle of the night. I’ve had to keep Rene calm and help her drive while she drove Nona to the hospital. I’ve done a million crazy, stress-inducing things, and this is fine; it’s me freaking out. That’s all. My emotions were getting the better of me, that’s all. Just because Charlie forgot his stuff. And because Charlie didn’t pick up the phone. And maybe because I had paged through twenty kajillion black sketches of the same thing and seeing that blackness lurking in the corners of my—

Outside, ripple of green light flashed through the trees. It skittered across the front yard, into the trees, disappeared.

Every hair on my body stood to attention. The breath caught in my throat.

I stared in wide-eyed, open-mouthed horror.

Through the rapid repetition of loud _FUCKS_ shouting in my head, I could barely hear myself whisper my father’s name.

I snatched everything I could—the thermos, the lunch bag, the sketchbook, the backpack—knocking over chairs and jerking the table back in the process.

I tore out of the house and through the yard to get to my truck. Heart racing, I ripped open the cab’s door and threw in Charlie’s stuff and my sketchbook, slammed it shut. While The Thing roared to life and kicked up mud speeding out of the driveway, my eyes darted around me, searching for the light.

Do I run away from it? Do I follow it? Do I find Charlie? Do I leave? _Ahhhhahah keep calm everything’s fine everything’s fine, this is fine_

No, no, I had to go to the Cullens, I had to find him, I couldn’t let him die trying to save me, _oh my god, I’m going to end up killing my father—_

I called Charlie. No answer.

Called Charlie. No answer.

_Dammit, Charlie! It’s the twenty-first century; pick up the phone!_

Every red light I hit, I called. At the third light, I threw my cell onto the car mat with an angry sob, slamming the gas pedal to the floor before the light could turn green.

Couldn’t call Charlie. Had to call someone who could tell me—

Edward! Duh. He would know what to do. I’d have to call Edward, I’d have to warn him, I’d have to tell him I’m sorry but I couldn’t get on a plane, not until I knew Charlie was okay.

And maybe he was okay—oh! Maybe Edward could just check in on Charlie’s thoughts, cloudy as they were. It could be easy as that. Maybe the fight was over already. And Charlie had showed up to the house looking for me, and Esme had invited him for hot tea and parsnips. And Edward could check in and read his thoughts and see he was totally safe and say “Bells everything is fine you don’t need to worry about anything I can handle everything” and for the first time in my life I can rest easy knowing someone else but me is taking care of—

My phone hummed on the rubber car mats. I could hear it vibrating under the seat, and I felt around for it. It fell silent. Missed call.

No. If I called, Edward would be mad. He’d ask me why I wasn’t on a plane. Couldn’t call, couldn’t. I said I’d leave.

But I had to reach Charlie. I had to. The thought of leaving him while vampires roamed the town made my stomach churn violently.

More buzzes; another call. The phone was moving deeper under the seat. Dammit. Dammit! I dug around for it until my hand felt the cool glass screen. I snatched it up. Unknown number.

“Charlie?!” _Please don’t be spam_

 _“Bells!”_ My shoulders dropped. Edward’s voice was frantic, close to breaking.

“I was just gonna call, I—”

_“Bells, oh God, where—_

“—can’t go Charlie, he—"

_“—are you?! Alice saw—”_

“—to the house right now—” 

_“Pull over!”_

“—and you have to stop him—”

 _“Bells. Nomads. Pull over. —Bells?_ ISABELLA! _”_

Why was he yelling?

In the moment, I didn’t have time to reach a conclusion.

In retrospect, several possibilities come to mind.

Certainly, he wasn’t yelling about the horror dawning over my face as I watched a streak of acid-green light speed straight towards my windshield. He couldn’t see it hurdling straight towards me.

Could he be yelling because he heard what was next?

Could he hear the screech of tires as I swerved to escape the attack?

Could he hear my cry of shock as the wheel locked and I hydroplaned into the opposite lane, straight into the woman standing in the rain with a grin on her face?

Could he hear the glass shattering, the crunch of metal as I hit her?

If not, he could hear the phone smacking against the dashboard as my truck screeched from the hit and rolled over, metal groaning.

He could certainly hear the tear of metal when the upside-down doors ripped open, exposing me to the sharp smile of a red-eyed stranger with fiery curls.

As the woman ripped me out of my seatbelt and dragged me into the woods, I screamed his name, for help.

Whether he heard that part was a mystery.

“See how easy this could have been the first time?”

Flashing lights like the bursting bulbs of cameras blinded me. Each time an acid-green ribbon darted in the air, pain pulsated through my veins, tickling at the end.

I could see nothing but light.

While I crawled, I felt my way around the pitch darkness. Sharp stones pressed into the plums of my kneecaps. Jagged sticks scraped against my palms while fern fronds grazed my cheeks. Spongy moss squished underneath the weight of me. Rain battered my aching back.

But without feeling the cold and wet, without smelling the rainwater and molasses, without tasting the rusty iron of blood in my mouth, I wouldn’t know any of these things existed.

All that existed was darkness.

And the light.

Firebolts swirled around my vision. They twisted and sparkled and burst through the air in front of me like fireworks. They promised something intangible. Something I wanted, something warm and comfortable.

All I had to do was follow.

Over gnarled roots and fallen trees I tottered. A chill fell over the forest floor as I crawled deeper. My hands bumped beads of dew off the cool, sweating ferns. Like my nightmares. Like my pictures.

Or was my brain cracking open like an egg?

“Look at you,” the woman cooed a cool whisper, syrup-smelling lips brushing against my ear. An icy frisson struck me from the top of my skull, drifted down my body. I turned my head out of instinct but still saw nothing. Goosebumps broke out across my arms. “I remember when you were _this tall_. You were an _itsy bitsy wittle bayby_ back then _._ Welcome home, precious.” She planted a kiss to my cheekbone, knocking my head to the side. The bone throbbed like I’d been struck.

When I turned to get a glance of her, she wasn’t there. Only the light existed.

Throat parched, lip busted and bleeding into my mouth, I gulped down air but didn’t answer. _Don’t speak don’t speak._ If I did anything besides follow the colorful glimmer, it would disappear, and I’d have nothing but the cold and the dark. If I followed them, they’d take me home. Someplace dry. Someplace warm.

_No, lights aren’t good; lights are bad_

Tears sprung to my eyes. Lights blurred, wavering in the bubble of tears. _Blockitoutblockitoutblockitallout_

“ _Oh, hush little baby, don’t you cry_. Shh, shh, I know, I know. You had such an awful wreck, darling. Don’t cry. We’ll get the boy’s scent off of you. James will still want you, I promise. And soon you won’t have to worry. You’ll have your chance to rest. Won’t it be nice? Don’t you want to lie down?”

I did. I wanted the stones to stop pressing in my shins as I crawled. I wanted the dirt cleaned from my hands. I wanted to rest.

I wanted to lie down in the light.

It glimmered and danced through stems and stalks and around the trunks of trees like tiny fairies. Where everything else was black, infinite, directionless, the green thread lit enough of the path to see I was still on planet Earth, that something other than shadow existed.

As I crawled toward her, I snatched at the green strands sparking in front of me. Each time, she tugged them just out of my grasp.

_Stop it._

I squeezed my eyes shut and grit my teeth, slamming my clenched fist onto the ground. The light appeared even behind my eyelids. I shook my head, knocking the lights around my skull until they sparked out.

Opened my eyes.

When I looked around me, the light had gone. Everything took on a faint color, from the ancient trees to the matted mulch underneath me. To my left, a glinting bubble of water threaded through a ravine filled with mossy bedrock.

The woman had disappeared.

Or…was she ever there?

Was I alone? Was this a hallucination? What was real? The forest? The light? The woman?

I had gotten into a car accident. I swerved off the road into a…

No. No, that’s not right. A person? I hit a—

And how did I end up here? Where am I?

My eyes darted all around me. I looked behind my shoulder.

“That’s the trouble with you.” Her face appeared inches in front of me cool breath washing over my face. I swore, skittered back. Her eyes, bright and shining red, reflected the threads of green light around us. “Why do you break free? I thought you liked me. I thought you were grateful. Why do you still try to escape?”

I could see her, but… I darted around the ancient trees that loomed over me.

But they weren’t. They didn’t exist anymore. Swallowed in black again.

Only she and me and green lightning bolts existed.

She flitted away, stealing the sparks. I lurched toward her. Stopped. _Focus, focus._

Blind, I trembled, still propped up on my back. I stared into a black, empty nothingness. Only sound and touch could orient me.

“James was so _angry_ with me, precious.” Her melodic, sardonic hiss filtered through the trees; it ping-ponged off the trunks. I rubbed my eyes to adjust them to the darkness. Maybe then I could see trees, see something. “Oh, he threw a _fit_ when he saw you in Port Angeles! Screaming, hitting, biting; you know how men are— ‘Vicky, baby, whaddyu _mean_ you let her get away the first time?! We can’t have a _witness_ , we can’t have the _Volturi_ finding out about her, not the big bad Volturi, bawbawbaw!’ Heeheehah!” Victoria’s giggle morphed into a haughty, biting laugh. “Always the Volturi. If you were so important, why didn’t he kill you the day we killed the girl? Why couldn’t he track you down?”

Her echo died in the air. Light dimmed, died. Frantic, I struggled to silence my heaving. Looked around. At nothing. At emptiness.

Her lips brushed my ear from behind, to the pulsepoint at my throat: “I’ll tell you why. I’ll tell you. You escape him, too. He can’t track you. That’s what makes you so fun. So tempting.”

The ribbons hugged my arms, my legs, searing hot as it slinked around my skin, urging me forward. I shuddered and grit my teeth and shut my eyes, shaking my head to get rid of the light.

While I wrestled with my vision, Victoria pranced in front of me. With every step she took, the green light splashed around her feet, skittered around her ankles, lit up the path ahead.

_Not real. It’s not real. Don’t look._

I gritted my teeth and struggled to remember how the forest looked at night. Moonlight illuminated the world, even at midnight, always. Logically, I knew that. I could make out the rough outline of ferns, the trunks of trees, if I focused hard enough.

I could still try to escape. Even if she blinded me again, whatever—I could feel my way over the mushy bed of detritus. I could do that. At least. And maybe…

While I inched back as silent as I could, Victoria flopped onto the log of a fallen tree sitting slantwise against a moss-draped boulder. Her legs dangled off the edge and she pumped them back and forth, pointing her toes. Grassy light wrapped around her sculped calves, trailed up her thighs. Beside her grew a patch of wildflowers; she swiped the biggest from the bunch and plucked its petals one-by-one.

I kept crawling into darkness, away from her light.

“James doesn’t think you’re fun. He doesn’t want to have any fun. All he cares about is the Volturi, Volturi, oh, we have to kill the girl, what about the Volturi?” She ripped the last petal from the flower and crumpled it in her hand. “What _about_ the Volturi? Who _cares_ about the Volturi? If James wants to be in the Volturi so bad, he should simply kill Demetri and take his place on the guard. I told him. Do you know what he said?”

Crimson eyes pierced mine. I halted. Her lip curled in a sneer. “Child. Answer. Guess what he said.”

 _Talk,_ I heard him whisper in my head.

From this distance, a human wouldn’t have heard my husky mumble. “What did he say?” 

She snorted and snarled, sharp vampiristic features flickering across her gorgeous face. Only after she turned her head, plucking another flower, did I keep crawling into the shadows. “He said, he told me, ‘Oh, Demetri’s too powerful. Demetri’s the all-time great. I can’t beat Demetri. They’ll want me if I take Olympia.’ ‘Forget the Volturi, then! You and Laurent and I are good enough as any Volturi; why don’t we simply keep Olympia for—' Oh, sweetheart, you really are a wily one, aren’t you? See, you’re fun! You escape! Haha!”

Victoria’s sharp Cheshire smile surfaced from the pitch black, millimeters from my face. Flinching, I flipped to my stomach and scrambled back, hands scraping over stones. Sparks enrobed me and burned my eye; I shoved my fists into my sockets. Waited for the colors to die.

I removed my hands, sucked in a breath, made my voice strong. It shook anyway. “You deserve better than him.” I said it with conviction. Like my life depended on it. “You’re better than all’ve ‘em. Volturi. Whoever.”

A peal of screaming laughter erupted from her lips, made me wince. “Yes! Of course I am. You understand. —Oh, Bella. You wonderful girl—you’ve got vision! You’ve got power. I can sense it. Just as James sensed power in me. What use would you be if we simply killed you? What fun is that?”

I stuttered. “No fun.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

She didn’t wait for me to speak.

As I opened my mouth, she seized my leg. A sickening crack and a rush of pain made me yell into the darkness: vowels, foul curses, broken sobs, then begging.

“Hey. _Hey_! Shh. Quiet. I said it’s a secret; don’t you listen?” Victoria’s green lights flashed bright as sun, burning my eyes, blinding me; I cried out and squeezed them shut but the acid green afterburn remained even under my eyelids; it floated through space…

Victoria dragged me. Pain jarred up my leg, my knee, my torso; I whimpered. Stones and broken twigs scraped my soft belly as I slid and jostled over them. My nails broke clawing the forest floor, trying to latch onto an anchor.

Icy fear slid down my back.

“James is a lesser man. Imagine! Wanting to be ‘on the guard.’ Trading Olympia for a fancy cloak. James wasn’t fit to claim me. And he’s not fit to claim you. Or drink you. It should be me. _I_ saved you. I should get you. I could keep Olympia. Don’t you think so?”

After several strides, she halted. A lump of rock pressed into the curve of my lung. I squirmed in her grip.

Victoria whipped her head back at me. “—Hey! Child! Don’t you think so?” Where her hand yanked my leg, pain throbbed up my veins, my spine.

“Shit,” I spat in a voice rough with pain, saliva dribbling down my chin. “Yes. Yes. Get Olympia.”

She dropped my leg. The flash of pain made me grunt and choke, jerk onto my back.

Crouching over my broken body, Victoria swiped my jaw and held it between two fingers, forced me to stare at her large, pinor noir–red eyes. The stained, lacy blouse she wore had a high neckline that covered a mess of scars on her throat. I swallowed.

“James can have his Volturi.” She licked the spit off my face. Under her icy tongue, I shivered and whimpered. “I’ll build my own. And—shh, stop whining—don’t worry. I’ll have a place for you, here. I will save you again.” She shot me another wide smile, even as I thrashed against her body. “James could see my gift. I see it in you, I did. You will be the first of _my_ guard. But it'll be so much more than that. Much deeper. We have a connection.”

Her marble-cold fingers swept across my jawline, down the pulse in my throat. There was no electricity like Edward’s touch; just a frosty sear that ran a painful shudder up my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

She dropped my chin, disappeared. In the moment that the light returned to the forest, I could make out the stream that had flooded the ravine. Further out, it grew wider into a pond, deeper. It headed towards a jut of cliffside where water plunged off the edge.

With a flash of pain, Victoria snatched my leg again and kept dragging.

We followed the direction of the stream, towards the opening. The rush of water roared louder, the darkness got blacker, the wind whistled and combed through the leaves.

_Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no, nonono_

“You will be my first. It’s only natural. It’s only fair. Oh,” she said, and her eyes widened. “Do you remember the first time we met? Humans are very dim. I only remember my change. But the story would make for an excellent last memory for you. You’ll be born into this life knowing how I saved you. We’d be truly bonded. It could work, don’t you think so?”

She didn’t want answer that time; instead, she flitted away. As she danced, my path ahead was clear; the green light trailed behind her, floated around me, caressed my limbs with that searing, painful light. Her eyes lit up, smile pulled wide across her face.

Victoria jumped into the branches above her, disappearing into the blackness that dropped over the forest like a curtain.

In the moment that the color returned, I could make out the stream gurling into a large mouth of water ringed by a rock bank—a swimming hole cut into the rock. On the far end of the pool, water gushed off a dropoff sheltered by boulders.

No escape. No death. So little time.

Her voice rose husky from the sounds of water and wind. “It all started deep in the hungry forest, late at night,” she said behind me, and I jumped.

Green lightning sparked and flashed in front of my face. I squinched my eyes, looked away, until air returned to my lungs. “In truth, we weren’t there for you, exactly. Only the wolf-girl. But I always pull in more victims than I expect. It’s not you, precious. I’m just that excellent.”

More sparks. I flinched from the brightness, shielding my eyes with my fists.

“Of course, we were otherwise occupied. We had priorities, you know. Not to say we neglected you! No. We would never abandon you, Child. But you separated from the girl. You pulled your escape trick! Clumsy you had fallen down the riverbank,” she said. Her smile hesitated, her eyes expectant. Silence.

Then she frowned.

“This is the part where you fall,” she said.

Bursts of searing green light flashed in front of my face, down my arms. I grit my teeth and focused on the shapes and colors around me. Light flashed and died.

And Victoria’s frown grew angrier.

Broken free from the spell, a hoarse, crackling snarl ripped from my throat, and I swiped my muddy nails at her. She skirted around me with an angry smile and a cloying laugh. By the time I whipped around to face her, she had disappeared. 

In her absence, I faced the small pond.

A pit of horror gnawed at my stomach, my chest.

Her voice came from behind me again. “I said ‘fall.’”

Victoria’s talons swiped across my back as she pushed me.

Yelping, I hit the muddy bank and splashed into the shallow water, foot cracking underneath the weight of my body. My face smacked into the mud. Searing heat flashed across my back where she had scratched deep; I could feel hot blood trickling down my spine. All the wind had been knocked out of me; I huffed in air, swallowing dirt.

I could only see red.

My heart and lungs panicked before my brain did, tightening and pounding in painful bursts as a little girl cried in the back of my head, me, somewhere, far away, calling her name, calling Billy’s name, Charlie, ‘Mama,’ rushing water, echoes. Nothing could filter through the blacks and greens of darkened forest. I clawed at my hair to make it stop, _make it stop, MAKE IT STOP—_

My fingers ripped through my wet, matted hair, snapping strands of it. After scraping my grimy face, they sunk into the squelching mulch. I heaved and smelled the rot. _Focus, focus._

I braced myself by my arms at the edge of the pool, looking into the glittering depths, listening to the soft bubbling of water, watching light flicker and fold into the rippling waves. Something shiny glimmered at the bottom of the pool. Something calling me.

My eyes squeezed shut. _Nonono_

They opened to my wavering reflection in the edge of the pool.

And hers.

With a gasp, I flipped over to face the fiery woman crouched over me. Half her face had been taken up by a toothy, sadistic grin. Her lips were glossy with venom that drooled down her bottom lip; her eyes were the blackest shade of black.

Everything dissolved into night. I blinked rapidly, seeing nothing.

Then, a spark.

Little lightning bolts weaved between her bloodied fingers and trickled onto the stones of the bank. It slithered into the water, trailed to the deeper part of the pond.

I turned. And followed. Cold water crept up my forearms, my shoulders. I shuddered and pulled away from the light _stop it, stop it—_

“Stop it,” she snapped. Her hands erupted into angry green flame that sucked the light out of the world; it carved deep shadows into the snarling, sneering face looming over me. “Focus, child. This is part of the story. You were drowning. Go in the water.”

I grimaced. My hands dug deep into the slimy silt to root myself somewhere. A chill shuddered through me.

Light at the bottom of the pool glinted. _Warm. Safe._

Using my hands as leverage, I pulled myself toward it. Cold waves lapped at my chest

_No, no no no—_

“Let me help you,” she whispered with her lips on my ear. “You were drowning. Like this.”

She grabbed my neck and slammed me into the water.

I sucked in, stunned by the icy cold and the bubbles all around me and the thrashing of waves in response to my jerking movements. Water shot into my mouth, stung my eyes, wrinkled my nose, choked me. Just like when Georgi pushed me, just like when—

“Yes!” said Victoria, yanking me out of the pond. I gulped in fresh air and sputtered out water. With her free hand, she stroked the beads from my face, my hair. “Yes, you remember, I can see it! You were screaming, ‘Mama! Mama! Save me!’ Like this.” She shoved me back down. I screamed and cried, all my oxygen escaping, surfacing. Victoria yanked me out again; I threw up water again. “Say it! Tell me to save you!”

I could only cough.

She drowned me.

I shuddered and screamed and hacked and sucked up water into my mouth, up my nose, into my brain. Everything screamed.

When she pulled me out the third time, I spit up the water that dribbled down the back of my stinging throat. My chest caved in with coughs, now animalistic wheezing.

“Look at me,” she said, venom drooling off her chin. I trained my bloodshot eyes on her black ones, snorting in air. “Tell me to save you. Say it.”

“Save me,” I rasped.

“Yes. Exactly. Yes! You looked at me with those big brown puppydog eyes—you’ve got the most beautiful big brown eyes, Bella; has anyone told you?—and you said, ‘Mama, Mama, help! Help!’” Her smile melted, but she kept drooling, panting. Bloodlust made her shake. “Aw, I couldn’t say no to you, precious, I just couldn’t say no. So I reached in—” Her grip tightened on me; I cried. She plunged me under the waves— “And I _pulled_ you from the water,” she roared, lifting me up by the neck. Ribbons of river water trickled down my hair and face and neck and chest. I choked on spit and water and air, lungs screaming, flailing my limbs and clawing at the hand around my throat. All the while she gave me this entranced, open-mouthed smile, like a preacher swept up in god. “And I said to you: ‘Do not fear me, Child! Mama’s here. I have come to save you.’” Her eyes brimmed with pride, with rapture. “And as the water rushed around us, I cast you onto the bank!”

Victoria tossed me without effort. I struck the edge of the jagged lip of the pond, stomach slamming into the rock. As I began tumbling back down into the muck and sharp stones, I yanked on a calcified tree root above me to keep my weight off my leg. My fingers throbbed from the thick mud wedged underneath my fingernails when I pulled myself up.

I rolled onto my flaming back, coughing.

Blackness shrouded me again. My back throbbed painfully. Several feet away, water gurgled. It was all I had to orient myself.

For a moment, everything stilled, and my coughing and gasps were lost in the white noise of the woods.

Light burst behind her like a halo; she stood over my body, posing. I flinched but didn't have the energy to move away. “I said, ‘Be free, child! Tell the wolves our story! Tell them to remember my name. I am Victoria. And we are coming for you.’” Her giggle, uneven and tinged with steel, echoed, wobbling the lights around us. “This is a dramatization, of course. But it happened. It did. I knew, I _knew_ I’d see you again. And! Look! Here we are! Isn’t fate funny? Isn’t it wonderful?” She crawled over me, sunk into the spaces not taken up by my limp limbs.

I sucked in a breath and another and another, packing the pain and the horror and the fear into another place in my head. Stow it away. Block it out. It wasn’t relevant now. The story was over, and there was no more time. There’s no more use for pain.

My voice came breathless and cracked. “Yes. It’s. Funny.”

What was left for me but death? I had exhausted all options. No more escape. No more retaliation. No more choice, no more future.

Only this. Everything here. It’s all I had.

Color, at the very least. With Victoria distracted, the light had burnt out and moonlight illuminated us. Trees and ferns around me breathed with saturated velvet greens of moss and desert browns of redwood trunks and ashy blacks and ember oranges of wildflower petals and, and…it, just, just cracked my heart open to know I would never put their colors on canvas, on paper, on brick, on anything, I’d never paint again, I would never—

But. But I could see it even with tears and water stinging my eyes. I could see. And it was still beautiful. So. That was enough for me, now. It had to be enough.

Death would come for me, but in the meantime, I could have this: The ferns and leaves and milky streak of stars in the sky behind Victoria’s shoulder. The meditative gush of water. The cool misty breeze combing through my hair and the branches overhead, chilling the soaking clothes that clung to my body. _God no this can’t be it there has to be more time_

If I packed away the pain and heartbreak and psychopathic vampire drooling over my broken body, it was almost beautiful. I could almost think.

It would have to be enough.

“If there was one memory I would want you to possess for your next life, it would be that one,” she breathed, frosty tongue catching the beads of water rolling down my hairline. “I want you to remember how I saved your life. I have saved you from the boy whose scent you wear. I have saved you from James. I have saved you from your human fate. I have saved your life. Soon you will save mine.”

If I could only have one memory, then I would pick Edward. I would pick anything other than this. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel his cool, velvety skin on mine, his whisper-soft breath reading my favorite book to me into the curve in my collarbone, that spot he loved.

In real life, he would never get the chance again: to speak to me, to touch me, to kiss me.

But I could pretend. If I could only have one more memory, it would be other than her. Other than this. I would make up a lie if I had to. I was dying, and it was enough.

“Oh Bella, I'm going to liberate you,” she promised.

Her fangs plunged into my wrist.


	23. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The temptation is powerful to close our eyes and wait for the worst to pass, but history tells us that for freedom to survive, it must be defended, and that if lies are to stop, they must be exposed."  
> \- Richard Hofstadter, _Anti-Intellectualism in American Life_ , 1963.
> 
> https://www.vote.org/
> 
> see you on the other side.

Canines cleaved two trails up my wrist.

The second her fangs sunk into my skin, Victoria had been ripped away in a flash of blonde. In her absence, two trenches of torn skin burned with fire. When I peeked at the mess of blood and gore on my left hand, I heaved at the sight and squeezed my eyes shut. Blood and pain made my mind dizzy. _Blockitoutblockitout_

To my left, women snarled, snapped their jaws. Shouts and yelps whirled around the area, echoed even over the water. Most came in as background noise, something detectable but nothing I could process. I drifted through the chaos, soundless. Motionless.

Through a distorted ripple, I heard the call of a calm male voice, “Edward. Over here.”

In the distance: “Bells!”

Cold hands brushed my forearm—a vampire’s hand, papery and cold and unfamiliar and unpleasant. I flinched back, uttering a broken cry. A soft murmur meant to reassure me got swallowed up in the white noise, the distant growls and screams and cracking of trees. The darkened silhouette beside me tilted, spun, blurred. Icy fingers reached for me again. I coughed a sob, and flinched, to limp to move away.

The first voice murmured behind him, “Fetch my medical bag. You’re going to have to help me keep her calm. Hold your breath.”

Recognition flickered in my brain. _Oh. Carlisle. It’s Carlisle_. _The doctor._

They came to rescue me. They came to save me.

Then: _Oh god. But I’m dying._

Outwardly, I registered no emotion, no response. Internally, my heart thudded slow, exhausted.

“Bells.” One strangled, painful word spat through clenched teeth. These cold hands running down my neck were different hands, soft like icy mist settling over dawn. Comfortable. Safe. I stirred; the hands disappeared. Edward choked on and swallowed back a growl.

"Watch her leg. It’s broken.”

Again, those cold, soft hands reached for me. Pulled away. So I reached for them. Though my left hand throbbed with pain, my right could dig its nails into the dirt beside him. I whimpered.

Edward. Here.

I could feel the pull. Despite my swollen eyes, I could see a shadowed silhouette from behind my tear-soaked lashes. I didn’t have to lie for him to be my last memory. He really would be.

It would be enough.

“Keep your head,” warned Carlisle. “Hold her steady. Try not to breathe.”

Beads of water and cooling, coagulating blood trickled down my sopping clothes, my hair, my skin, my back, as someone repositioned me sitting up. Every fiber of me screamed with pain. A heavy, dry coat draped itself around my shoulders, scratchy and warm. My body wanted to react to his hands gathering me in his arms—all my aches and pains ended in pleasant fluttering.

But every one of my body’s attempt at relief simmered out, exhausted.

Though I wanted one last glimpse of him, one last memory for wherever I was headed, I couldn’t. My eyelids had become too heavy to hold up.

That was okay. It didn’t matter now. Edward was here, shuddering against me. His cinnamon permeated the overwhelming smell of iron and salt and rust—my blood. I could cling to fistfuls of his shirt with a weak right hand and feel the rumbling in his chest vibrating against my temple. A shaking hand brushed my hair, my face. Fingertips ghosted over my scrapes and cut.

I couldn’t see him or speak to him or react to him, but it was more than enough. Now I could rest here. Now I could sleep.

Waves dragged me down. Warbled mumbling melted into—

“Bells. Wake. Up.”

His voice punctuated the nothingness; I jolted at each word. _I am awake,_ I mumbled. It tumbled out of my lips in an incoherent mumble. I didn’t have the energy for English.

Edward’s trembling grip around me tightened; his free hand stroked my face. “Love. Look. At me. Stay with me. Don't go. Look at me. Please don't go. Carlisle’s going to—”

Cold hands straightened my broken leg.

My entire world shattered.

Every pulsing ache on my body exploded into pain. Icicles slid into my temples. Screams pierced a muddled mess of sounds—mine.

Someone had set me on fire.

Alarmed, my eyes flew open. My wrist scalded. Burned. Flames seared up my hand, curled my fingers and froze them in an iron grip. Holy shit. _Help!_ I wanted to call, _help me!_

No words came out. All I could do was scream. Before I could beat the fire out by slamming my fist into the dirt, a hand caught my arm and held me in place.

“Ed—” It came out as a broken sob, but I said it, anyway. The pain choked me.

“Edward, hold her.”

_“Hand!”_

“Hey. Shh. It’s okay. Shh. Love, be still, we—oh. God. Carlisle. Her wrist. Her _wrist_.”

In broken sobs I screamed, " _Burns_!" Darkness broke to dusk, my eyes fluttering open. I couldn't see his face, something dark and warm was clouding my eyes. _Pull out the fire pull out the fire_

My hand spasmed. Ripples of hot pain bolted through my fingers and down my forearm like I had struck my funny bone against a jagged slab of concrete.

A hiss. “A bite,” said Carlisle. An animalistic snarl of shock ripped through Edward. “Edward, we—”

“No—”

“Son.”

“—don’t. You promised me you wouldn’t change anyone el—”

“We can’t let her die.”

“We won’t change her. We can save her. Think.”

Carlisle sighed. “I—don’t know, perhaps—”

“ _Think_.”

Carlisle's voice rose over Edward's panic. “A delayed reaction to the bite might indicate that Victoria hadn’t forced the venom into her bloodstream. We could—it’s possible, maybe—attempt to get rid of the tainted blood. Before it infects her heart."

“There’s still blood at the house, we—"

"No. _Get rid of_ the blood. We don’t have time for a transfusion." Carlisle’s voice floated close by my head. “It will have to be removed. Sucked out.”

“Fine. Anything. Do it.”

Cool fingers brushed at the wetness in my eyes, on my cheeks. Now his voice was low, rising just above my desperate sobs. “I’m going to be bracing her leg. I have to stop her bleeding. Edward. _You_ would have to do it.”

He continued to shake, arms around me. His fingers twitched against my skin. “Wh-wh—no. We’ll call Rose. We have to wait for Rose. She’s the only other one who can—”

“If she's still driving out Victoria, she’s not going to be back in time. We can’t wait.”

Edward’s voice, breaking, rose. “No, I, please, I can’t. Please, Carlisle. Show me how to brace a leg, I’ll do that instead, I’ll stop the bleeding, please, I can’t, I—”

“You wanted another option, this is it. These bones are going to set quickly with venom if we—"

“Let—me—" I sucked in air through a clenched jaw.

“—a choice now. Suck the venom out or change her. Choose.”

“ _Liberate_.”

“She’s my— Please, Carlisle please, _please_ don’t make me—”

“Son, _now.”_

My whole arm flared in fiery pain, licking up my shoulder.

“E-Edw-ward.”

While I scratched at the flames eating my shoulder, his cold body stilled underneath me. Cool, silken fingers circled my wrist, framing the epicenter of my fire. “What, how—"

“Stay calm,” Carlisle growled. “Swallow your venom. Go as slowly as you can, _don’t drink_. Give me one minute to set her leg and apply a tourniquet. Sixty seconds, and I’ll pull you off. I’m right here. I've got you.”

Carlisle’s cool whisper flitted under my screams. Vices held my leg to the floor. Edward’s grip tightened on my arm; I thrashed and cried against him. Locked, he bent down. 

Sharp fangs sliced into my skin, again, sinking deep.

Outside of the mind-numbing sting, everything stilled.

Silenced.

Died. Melted. Drifted.

In the absence of sound and pain and fear, nothingness sheltered me from my storm. Peace settled in like silt.

He was here, and it was enough.

Until gravity began to tilt underneath me.

As it slid away, the world erupted into flames.

A man’s voice shouted Edward’s name over my piercing screech. I couldn’t keep my head above water, more fire, more fire, more, more—

Writhing and jerking in his grasp helped calm the pain. Gripping and ripping at his hair helped. Screaming until my throat split and my lungs crackled and wheezed, helped. As my hand numbed, fire licked my veins, slowly dulling, shrinking down to the size of a melon to a golf ball to a pin point to a nothing, to a fluttering pleasurable numbness to wavering consciousness to the jolt of reality at the tightening grip of the serpent mouth sucking at my skin. And I tried to struggle against his crushing grip and I tried to pull his hair and I tried to call his name, that name, _“Edward,”_ but did I? did I speak him into existence? did I care? did I?

No.

Heat and spark scattered across my flesh, festered in my draining veins, made me weightless. Nothing moored me to earth now except those lips locked to my wrist, taking everything I had. Taking me. Blurring me out of existence.

Where did I end? Where did we begin? When?

Like filtering sediment, my body remained in one world while I bled into omnipresence, slipping through arrhythmic beats of time and corners of space and finding no anchor save for those fangs, tasting nothing but cinnamon, glimpsing nothing but his face flashing through different eras different scenes different feelings and different sounds and different sensations different everything different but him and me and tendrils of heat creeping through my limbs while sparks of colors danced and died _Edward it hurts_

_“—bloodiscleanenough—”_

and while ice drilled in from all sides and choked me at the throat and pulled me by the wrist I drifted through bolts of the softest warmest silk and while waters crashed down and crushed me I coursed through his veins instead of mine and while a stern voice panicked somewhere at the back of my eardrums _“Edwardstopyou’rekillingIsa_


	24. Chapter 19

Death.

Definition: Nothingness. Absence of pain. Absence of sorrow. joy. sight. sound. The absence of consciousness itself. Lifeless floating in tepid water, dandelion seeds drifting in wind, a snake knotting itself. Something infinite and intimate and omnipresent.

Right? Sounds accurate? Sounds okay?

Okay. Lemme just say: honestly? if that’s death, I’ve been screwed. Big time. No question.

Every cottony contour of some thin, lumpy mattress pressed into my muscles. Every scratchy thread of the starched sheets chafed my skin. Every fiber, every tendon screamed with different intensities and timbers, with different needs, shift to the left, twitch to the right.

Death should not be this uncomfortable.

From the watery depths of nothingness, I should have not heard noises. Annoying beeping by my bed. Low chatters from another room. A chipper infomercial jabbering on about portable grills. Running water glugging from a sink in a bathroom below. Squeaking shoes. Shuffling papers. Someone smacking on gum.

I should not have been able to smell the stench of sterilization. No, not mixed with the remnants my mother, my father, strangers, stale hair, dust, plastic, bleach, drugs.

Or him. Cinnamon, ash, freesia, cloves, rust and salt, gold, warm summer sun.

_Mine._

Into view flickered a ceiling light.

It was of those rectangular fluorescent fixtures that spanned the length of the white stippled ceiling, emanating a cold, bluish glow through textured grooves to dissipate the light in a way that made it less unsettling. As it breathed, it carved shadows into the ceiling panels. Darkness collecting in the corners bled muted colors of blues, blacks, greens, violets, and grays. So vibrant, it felt cartoonish.

To my left, a floor vent breathed motes into the room. Caught by the tiniest slivers of the cold light, they flashed in the dark. It made the entire room sparkle.

I had never seen anything like it. So textured. So saturated. So sharp.

Was that death? Was I on drugs? Had I reincarnated? Had I passed out on Georgi’s couch again?

Then I flicked my fingers against my palms. Bent them at the knuckles, joints popping. Flexed. They ached too. I could feel every miniscule crease, hear the way the grooves of my fingerprints caught the wrinkles of my palm.

Underneath it all, I realized, was a common denominator: a heartbeat.

Every muscle aching for relief pulsed with a staticky shock. The rushing roar in my ears was pumping blood. The light breathing on the ceiling pulsed to the beat of my heart. The smell of rust in the air, mixed with chemicals, mixed with him…

My stiff neck cracked as I gazed down at where my hands should be. The left one had been bandaged. Twisted tubes poked into my right.

Was I alive?

“Fuck,” I said with a sigh.

Wait, hold up. Was that _my_ voice? Smooth and rich like the soft pluck of a harp—and not even rusty from screaming?

My fingers grazed my throat. Icy hands had squeezed the life of out me, here. I could mimic with each finger where Victoria had grabbed me.

It didn’t hurt.

Did it happen at all?

Frowning, I pulled my eyes up and caught his.

 _Him._ Edward. Mine. A forceful, painful pull stole the breath right out of my throat.

More of a desperate clawing than a painful pull, really. It threatened to lurch us forward, towards each other.

Towards him. Edward. The vampire. With striking, glittering, vermillion eyes, big as moons and framed with stark lashes. With misty skin, driftwood-swept hair, poison-apple lips.

We never moved.

“Edward.”

At his name, he shuddered; my blood simmered.

No. Wait. I must be dead. That couldn’t be my voice, rich and smooth. These couldn’t be my eyes, pouring over the faint lines and brushed pores of Edward’s face from across the room. These couldn’t be my ears, catching how slowly he breathed in my presence, catching that young woman’s testimonial of the portable grill from the other room, catching that gum smacking from the hall. This couldn’t be my nose, parsing through the scent of ash and cloves, my blood, our scent.

Ours.

We stared.

“You needed me.” Each whispered word had me waiting on pins and needles. If I hadn’t seen those lips twitch, I wouldn’t have known he was talking; it slipped soundless to human ears. A whisper for the supernatural—and myself. “It took me a while to escape the others. I had to wait until Carlisle was called to the ER to sneak in. He’ll be back soon.” Beat. “We don’t have much time.”

At the same moment I shifted to sit up, he came up to grip the metal bar guarding the foot of my bed. They bent like noodles in his hands. Machines monitoring my heartrate beeped in worry, fretting over the fact that my insides boiled hot. In the back of my brain, I could feel a dull ache shooting through my body, scorching my back, my wrist, my leg.

Every vein burned for him.

“What are you—? God, I’m so glad you’re here. Are you here to bust me out of this joint or what?” Though free from soreness or pain, my voice had a breathy, husky timbre to it.

He shushed me. “If I could take you with me, god, I would. I would take you..." He never finished. "You should rest. Please. I’m, I was just leaving.”

“What happened?” Anything to keep him from leaving my side. I couldn’t stand any more space. Though I’d been unconscious for who knows how long, it felt like I’d been waiting an eternity to be back in his orbit. “After you dropped me off, what— Are you okay? Is everyone—”

“Everyone’s fine.”

“Charlie? He stopped by the house, he—”

“Charlie’s okay. He’s downstairs. Waiting.” His hush ceased the frantic beeping of the machine beside me. The rich, musical lilt of his voice was even more pronounced than before. Or was I hearing it differently?

“And Alice and, and everyone? What happened?”

Judging by the wrinkle between his brows, it was the wrong question to ask. It took him a moment to speak.

“Alice threw out our plans and went off to kill James,” he replied, voice smooth and sharp and cutting like glass. He practically bubbled over with festering resentment. I had never seen him so animated, even in a hushed voice. “He tempted her with the future she wanted. Of course she took the bait. Jasper abandoned his watch in La Push to help her trap him, thinking that killing James would prompt a retreat. While this was happening, while I was dropping you off, Laurent was breaching the path near Forks High. He ran right past us, you know. Traveled up south. To our nest. To an unprotected La Push. And Victoria. Came. For you. Just like James had wanted.”

 _La Push?_ I gasped. The gnawing pit in my stomach soured. “Billy, Jake.” _No, no, please, Victoria is going to kill them too._

“Fine,” said Edward. “Everyone is alive. Emmett chased off Laurent. Rosalie chased off Victoria. Everything’s—”

“James is he…did Alice…kill him?”

His nod was slow. His eyes watched for every subtle change in my expression. “Once Alice put two and two together, James had very little chance. But the fact of the matter is, it should have never happened. None of it. Alice saw the breach too late. She saw. Everything. Too late. I’m so…”

He clenched his jaw shut. Exhaled. In the ensuing silence, I felt naked. He absorbed all of me, here, where I sat hooked up to machines in a wrinkled hospital gown, a hospital bed. Wearing that same angry expression, now tinged with pain.

My blush of embarrassment brought on a deeper blush of shame, for a reason I couldn't place.

“It wasn’t too late for me,” I said in a soft voice. When my hand brushed his, flames erupted in my throat and through my veins.

His gaze caught mine, and his pupils dilated.

 _Isn’t it?_ they seemed to say.

As they swept over every detail of my face, glittering specks of blueish light shifted across his carmine irises. The whole room felt slanted, like I was sliding towards him.

His answer came hesitant and soft. “No. It wasn’t too late for you. In fact, I— That’s why I’m here. Or. Er. I just. I wanted to know. See. If it…felt like things had changed. If you felt…” Edward shifted, uncomfortable, shy, crushing the bar in his hands. I scooched closer to the end of the bed, pulling taught the tubes of that stupid IV. “Different.”

“What? No. It’s not different. Nothing’s changed.”

Surely, things had changed.

My sight and my senses, yeah. I couldn’t deny that. None of his fleeting emotions would have been visible to me: the subtle shift of his frown, the clouding of his eyes. Human eyes would have been too slow to catch them.

“Do you remember? What happened? When I…when we…”

No, I shouldn’t have seen the quickness of his movements with such clarity. Just like I shouldn’t be hearing ‘A Horse with No Name’ strum over the radio in the hall. Just like I shouldn’t feel like my center of gravity had shifted out from under me.

Just like I shouldn’t be smelling my blood in him.

I made him shudder at his own name again. “Edward, I mean, you _saved_ me,” I continued, and grasped on tighter to him, hoping my own sense of relief would find him. His other hand came to brush my left arm. Hot magma sloshed inside my brain. “That's the only thing that's different. I’m alive because you…" _because you…_

A sort of quiet, unspoken horror settled in the silence of my broken sentence.

The unspoken words hung on my lips.

Edward Cullen bit me.

Edward Cullen drank my blood.

“Bells.” My name on his lips felt like hot wax dripping down my spine. Chills spilled goosebumps down my arms. Every red and white blood cell I had ached for him to take it all, take it, take it.

He could have taken it all.

Should have taken it all.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

The thought of him biting me again shot a thrill up my spine.

“I’m not,” I breathed.

_Fuck, what am I saying, what am I thinking?!_

Edward stood stony, unblinking. With him draped over the frame, and me scrunched at the foot of the bed, we were mere inches from each other. We could’ve powered the entire hospital on the tension.

His whisper-low growl shot a thrill up my spine, giving me goosebumps. “I need to hunt.” His words ached, and his hungry eyes pinned my lips. Could he smell my blood like I could? Could he taste me, even now? Did he know how it burned, his hand trailing up my arm? “I needed to see you first. I know—it’s not right. I know. I know. But I needed to see you. Before. Had to see you. To make sure you were okay. I needed to be here. I need—"

Our skin buzzed upon contact, blood boiled, breath came in gasps. _Him._ _Ours. Too much_. Everything inside us screamed; our outside world was silent. Except for him.

With his lips nipping the outer shell of my ear, my jaw, my cheek, neck, he punctuated his whispery sentences with kisses. “I need you. I need you. Oh, my sweet, my Bells, mine, _mine_ , you’re alive, you’re incredible, beautiful, feel so good, almost left me, you almost—you could have died because of—”

I clawed the fabric of his shirt and captured his lips with mine. _Mine._

All the world stilled and silenced around us.

Or maybe I had shut down entirely.

His lips were soft and yielding and hungry. They were safe and icy and stinging and electric, buzzing with the low growl coming from deep in his chest; the kind of lips I wanted kissing and sucking every inch of my skin, the kind of passionate kiss I would want every day for the rest of my life and beyond, the kind that made me want to share all of—

“—me,” his hoarse voice rumbled, breathless. Our lips met again, overtaken by the pull of being apart. But even that wasn’t close enough; I sucked on his bottom lip, closer, closer, found the buttons of his shirt and tore at them, closer. His fingers roamed over my exposed skin, leaving trails of fire to bloom through me, licking me from the inside out. Every fiber of my being screamed—

“Edward.”

Our kiss broke; I gasped back to reality.

As soon as new oxygen hit me, the squealing, squeaking machine cried. Details flooded back to me. Like how the pulsating light actually made this uncomfortable flickering effect that I found distracting. Like how my swollen lips stung with residual cold. Like how the aching hole in my chest returned in his absence.

Like how Edward’s father had just walked in.

Now Carlisle stood between us, one hand holding a manila folder and small, thin box. The other clasped Edward’s shoulder, forced him back. Not a hair, nor speck of dirt, nor single flake of dandruff littered his doctor’s coat. Squeaky clean, professional. As though he hadn’t just been fighting off vampires.

Meanwhile, Edward quaked at the far end of the room, holding a ripped-off chunk of the hospital bed.

He stared at Carlisle like he was hoping to escape his father’s glare by sinking into the floor.

If I saw like I normally did, would I have caught the disapproving glance that Carlisle gave Edward before he spoke? Would I have ever found out that a vampire had an entirely different set of communication too quick for human eyes?

Or had things changed?

“Isabella. I’m so glad to see you up,” he said to me. Then, harsher: “Edward. I believe Esme is expecting you at home.”

Still shaken, Edward tried to play it cool, though his eyes couldn’t stop darting to mine. “Esme trusts me,” he said, setting the broken piece of furniture on the floor and kicking it to the corner with his foot. The nonchalant gesture was still too forceful; the piece cracked against the wall. “And she’s busy.”

“With?”

“Alice. She’s home.”

Certainly, I wouldn’t have seen the spark of surprise cross over Carlisle’s serene face. “Hm. Why don’t you step out for a while? Get something to eat? Isabella and I have things to discuss. You need to work on getting…reintegrated. Properly.”

By the look Edward gave me, the idea of leaving my side sounded about as pleasant as a spinal tap. At least, that’s how it sounded to me. Even the few feet of space between us was distracting, irritating; him leaving sounded like torture.

We shifted towards each other again.

Carlisle stepped into Edward’s path. For a brief flash, Edward squared up to his father, as if prepared to attack. Then, blinking as if coming out of a trance, he stepped back to say, “Bells doesn’t want me to go."

“I did not ask for you to speak for her. I asked you to do the rational, _respectful_ thing and leave.” Carlisle had never sounded so firm. I flinched. Maybe Edward did too. “My medical evaluation is confidential. If Isabella wishes to divulge any details later, she is welcome to do so.”

That’s how I knew something was up. Shock crossed Edward’s face—fleeting, but enough for me to take notice.

Carlisle knew something Edward didn’t.

I told Edward in a soft voice. “I’ll see you soon." Then glanced at Carlisle. "Er. I'll. See you when you're...vegetarian. Okay?”

Edward said nothing. He tossed me an apologetic look with his shining eyes before the door clicked shut behind him.

As the distance grew larger, the pull became more acute. It was like a string tied me to him; I could sense where he was in the building with a sharpness and clarity that hadn’t been there before.

_Is it different?_

Carlisle took several moments to review files, charts, doctor things. His tone came calm. Composed. Methodical. “Please excuse my son’s behavior. He is not himself. It is not wise for him to be here. He needs to…readjust. Before he has contact with humans. Much less visits a hospital.”

“Er, no, it’s—I’m sorry. That he has to readjust.” Frankly, it hadn’t occurred to me. For the Cullens, drinking human blood must’ve felt like falling off the wagon. Being around humans, like this…

“Well. I’m sure we can agree the circumstances were extraordinary, and certainly worth the end result,” he said with his signature, warm, reserved smile. “And on that note, if I may. I wanted to discuss the injuries you’ve sustained, and what we’re looking at here.”

“Yeah,” I said but hesitated over the word. Carlisle waited for me to speak. Then, firmer: “Yeah. I want to know. Let’s talk.”

The curiosity never left his face, but he continued. “When you arrived at the hospital, you had a considerable list of injuries: Three breaks in your leg and foot, a concussion, bruising, and several—shall we say, _lesions,_ on your back and wrist. You…” he slowed “remember…how you got those lesions. Yes?”

My nod was just as slow. But I was certain. “Victoria,” I murmured. The name felt like acid on my tongue. 

“And Edward.” He paused; I nodded to confirm. “Yes. Your chart details bruising, cuts, fractures, breaks from a car crash—”

“How long have I been here?”

If Carlisle had been caught off guard by the question, nothing but his eyes showed it. Even then, it’d been quick—just a slight change in the way the light breathed on his face—that signified any reaction at all. “Approximately seventeen hours,” he replied. “Now, over the course of your stay, I’ve been monitoring you closely. Your injuries are healing faster than what we would expect.” His forefinger tapped a manila folder he held in his hand. “Your acuity from when you entered to now is—remarkable, considering your condition upon arrival. The bruising has begun to fade, most of your superficial cuts are beginning to scab over. That’s part of the reason why I came to talk to you. We’ll need to switch out your medical chart with a forgery to account for the medical inconsistencies.

“That said, though some injuries will not appear on the new record, I would like to keep an eye on them—namely, your head, wrist, back, and leg. If you consent, I would prefer to treat you privately as a concierge physician. Free of charge, of course.”

“Uh.” My head spun. “Yeah. That’s—fine. But...is that, y’know, a problem? Healing quickly?”

“No, not a problem, necessarily. It’s possible that traces of venom remain in your system—not enough to kill you, but enough to accelerate your body’s healing processes. It is unusual, though not unheard of. Venom can help close small superficial wounds. Some humans can even show a resistance to venom. In those cases, micro doses can be beneficial.” But Carlisle himself seemed unsure, unsatisfied with his own answer. Unspoken questions hung in the air. “Your white blood cells will likely take care of it, in time. You may experience side effects in the interim. Fatigue. Lowered immune system.”

I looked down at the thick bandage wrapped from my fist to my forearm. My wrist throbbed.

Hesitance fell over him like a hush over a crowd. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Beyond the scope of these physical traumas. I have some questions to ask, if you’ll indulge me. I want to make sure you’re doing well. Emotionally speaking.”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically. Which seemed like a lame answer, considering I had just survived a car crash and a vampire attack and wound up in a hospital almost twenty-four hours later. Up until now, I hadn’t thought about it. But maybe I just wasn’t paying attention to the anxiety tugging at the back of my brain. My hands began to sweat. “All things considered, I mean.”

And then: “Yes, it’s been quite chaotic lately, hasn’t it? For the both of us.” said Carlisle, and the sympathetic warmth seeping into his smile disarmed me.

I nodded. Of course. I had heard bits and pieces of Cullen drama in my short time knowing them: Alice’s obsession with the future. Jasper’s problem with integrating. Rosalie’s disagreements with Edward and her family. And Edward’s problem with…everybody. Especially me.

It was enough to keep the good doctor busy, I would bet.

“Though you, especially,” Carlisle continued, “have had quite the tumultuous new year so far. So I've heard. Edward said you just moved from Arizona.”

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging out of my thoughts. “I did. Big change.”

“A lot less sunlight, to be sure.” A set of tired, humorless laughs broke the conversation. “Has the transition to Forks been favorable?”

“Yeah. I mean. It’s been…good. I don’t know. A little uncomfortable. I’m still adjusting. But. I like it here. I dunno. Edward makes me really happy.”

“He mentioned you have trouble sleeping. Falling asleep. Staying asleep.” An uncomfortable feeling settled like a stone in my stomach. “Is that recent?”

“Oh. Yeah. Well. Moving to a new place. You know. It’s a lot better now.

“Do you always have trouble sleeping when you move to a new city, new residence?”

“Um, sorta. I mean, not really. Sorta depends on the place, I guess. And our. Uh. Financial situation.”

“You’ve had nightmares since arriving here, as I understand it?”

A defensive tone laced my words. “Everyone does. Have nightmares. Sometimes.”

“And you?”

“Y-Yeah, but I—"

“Frequently? As in, more than once a week?”

“Yeah. B-but that could be a number of things: I mean, the house, it shakes at night, so. And. Sometimes when I drink coffee too late, I…” I never finished my sentence. “Sometimes I get distracted drawing. And I stay up. So.”

Carlisle nodded, slow and rhythmic. “If I may, Isabella—I wanted to ask you about that.” He laid the thin box in front of me. “Emmett recovered your sketchbook from your truck. Your vehicle is with Rosalie now, being repaired. I’ll warn, you, the journal, it’s—”

I tossed the lid off the box. The little book sat inside, warped. Flecked with red. With no reaction, I grabbed it. Dried blood glued the pages together.

“Yeah,” I said, ripping through them one by one. “It’s kinda beat up, huh?”

Blood bled into all of my forest drawings. _God. Damn it._ I pinched the page between my forefinger and thumb, rubbed it until the color faded out of the page. Flecks of red and paper pulp clung to the grooves of my fingertips.

“When I saw these, I thought about—” Carlisle stopped there. Then pivoted. “Edward has one of your pieces in his room. Your use of color is incredible, very lively. He never mentioned that you work in black and white.”

“Oh. Thanks. Just…lately, I have. I sorta got into it after—uh. I used to paint murals.”

“Are these drawn from life?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, still flipping. Many scenes had been ruined. Blood. Everywhere. “Kinda. I just. Draw what I see around me. My dreams. Stuff like that.”

Though my mind remained calm, my body shook. Acid churned in my stomach, my heart hammered. Carlisle caught it. The heart rate monitor caught it. The only thing that slowed were my hands flipping through the pages.

If nothing else, my brain remained calm.

As I flipped through the sketches, a heavy rock settled in my stomach. Lights. Lights. All of them had those damn lights, the same ones I saw behind Ang on Friday, the same ones I saw out the windshield right before—

“Is this what you have nightmares about?” Carlisle asked me, gesturing to—what else?—the lake in the forest. Swallowing, I nodded. “Do you know where this is?”

That made me pause. “Is it a real place?”

Because I recognized it. Dimly.

Maybe that’s why they were drawn in black.

Carlisle hesitated. “It’s Goat Rocks park. There’s a small lake several miles off the trail. It’s not too far from here. I couldn’t help but notice some similarities. Coincidences.”

The puzzle pieces of my shoddy memory clicked one by one. My index finger traced indents in the page, the place where I had scribbled a messy black fern. Charcoal clung in glittering specks to my fingerprint and made it gleam. “Um. Yeah. Victoria said something. About how she and James…lured me. And the ‘wolf girl.’” _Please, don’t let it be real, please. Please let this be a conspiracy._ “You’re…you’re saying she—that I’ve been to Goat Rocks, right?” I paused, not waiting for a response. _This isn’t happening. This can’t be real._ “Who…who’s the wolf girl?”

“Er. We don’t— That’s not the term we use to classify that type of fae,” Carlisle murmured, to my confusion.

 _More fae?_ “Wh-what? Then…what?” I swallowed. _There’s more?_

He never answered my question. “Do you remember any…prior incident? With Victoria or James?”

Carlisle was patient waiting for an answer. It wasn’t something I had appreciated in the moment. Looking back…it helped. “She. Told me. A story. About how she had known me. and the wolf g—er, uh, fae. Person. I don’t—” When I looked back at what happened, my memory kept going back to the lights. Only the lights. Water. “I don’t remember what she told me. But she, I think it was...” _No. Don't say it. It can't be true. It can't be real._

And then: “Does the name Caitlin Black sound familiar to you?”

Chills shot up the arm where I’d been bitten; it spasmed in pain. _No, no no no._ “Oh. Y-yeah. Yes. We were— our families are good friends. Were good friends. Are good friends.” _No. Please. This can’t be a real thing that’s happening right now._

“Do you remember being at a lake like this? With her?”

My voice didn’t reach above a whisper. Every time my brain scrambled to search for memories, I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing them all to black. “I don’t know. Sorta. Maybe. I. We were out there. Once. Camping. Or something. We, we—I don’t know. It was dark…ish. We were walking. Maybe. Or—playing? Or she went missing? I don’t—I don’t know. I’m sorry.” I had been shivering, wet and cold. I was crying. Billy had hugged me. _Oh my god, Billy—_

“No apology necessary,” said Carlisle in a soft, comforting voice. “Please, I don’t wish to bring up memories that may make you feel uncomfortable. I only ask because...if you want to talk about it, I am here for you. It's a tough thing to go through."

I uttered the word No. Fell silent for a moment. All the pieces of a mystery scattered around me clicked into place. And I felt nothing. Except. Pain. “No, it’s, it’s fine. I don’t remember. Much. But. Victoria said…she told me that the w—that Caitlin…Caitlin followed her, but I…” I shook my head at the crack of my voice, forced my mouth closed. _Have to block it out._ I cleared my throat before I ground out the words. “Anyway. She led her. C-Caitlin. With lights. And me, by accident, kinda. And I—drowned? I don’t. Know. I don’t know.”

“It seems Victoria has a gift," he said. "One I've seen before, but not in vampires. ‘Will-o’-the-wisp, it's called. A glimmering light effect meant to lead travelers from their paths."

“How did she…how did she do it? She said her gift didn't work on me.”

“It’s hard to say at present. You’re a bit of an anomaly,” he admitted. “What I can tell you is that psychic abilities work much in the same manner. The deeper she burrows into one’s subconscious, the harder it is to resist, the more control she has over one’s vision, one’s mind. This gift is more common among succubi and siren fae, whose gifts can distort the reality of the victim. Based on your interactions with Edward, Alice, and Jasper, and now Victoria, it’s reasonable to suspect that when she began to lure you, your mind…”

That what? That I blocked her out and left Caitlin to die?

The room spun. Nausea crept over me. _Billy. Jake. His daughter, Billy’s daughter, she—_ “Why her? Why? Why did they go after her?”

Carlisle said in a soft voice, “James knew what she was. He had attempted to use her to divulge our allies’ existence to the Volturi. Under the pretense of ‘security,’ he would invade Olympia. Over time, it would undermine our claim on the land."

"You were here," I said. "When it happened."

“Unfortunately, no. We were living at Arcadia, and in Alaska, New York, and East Timor. We were unaware of any plot against us. But when we returned to Forks, Billy confronted me over the incident and refused our request to rent their land, as we’ve done in the past. Our allies share a similar philosophy regarding the supernatural’s place in this world. We retooled our treaty before we left for Arcadia, adding provisions that would allow our allies to call upon us to defend their home. A year ago, Billy made that call.”

Forget the explanations. Forget the circumstances. Carlisle had pieced the whole thing together. Carlisle did. Before me. Because I forgot. I forgot? “You…you knew?” I asked, voice breaking at the last word. “You know what happened to—to Catilin? To me?” I had to take a lungful of air before I could speak again. “Did everyone know? Edward? Did he know?” Is that why he needed to talk to me?

“No one knows,” Carlisle assured me in a gentle voice. “Only me. I met with Billy alone when we returned. The details of the incident were redacted from me, but I swore to keep the nature of the event secret. As a condition of our return, our coven was tasked with severing all nomadic trails in the area, especially those that crossed through Forks. At the start of the new year, we were informed that protecting Forks High School was a priority. Forgive me for my inquiry. But I…couldn’t help but notice. Coincidences.”

Carlisle gave me a sympathetic, sheepish twitch of his lips.

“Billy…asked you to protect me?” _After I…after what happened?_

“Surely, he didn’t imagine us being involved in your life to this degree,” he said. “We should have—” Should have _what_? “I have erred greatly. You have suffered for it. I owe you more than what an apology has to offer, young Isabella. I owe you more than an apology, in truth. Nevertheless, I do so humbly apologize. I am sorry we failed to protect you.”

Carlisle’s face fell.

In a way, it changed everything.

Through his vampirish mask of sparkle and glamor, I saw a man. Exhausted by the weight of his years stacked on his shoulders. Seeing him standing there under the harsh fluorescents of the hospital room, face tired and disappointed and unsure, admitting to me that he had made a mistake—him, a _four-hundred-year-old_ guy…

I don’t know. It peeled the curtain back. If only just an inch.

“You saved my life,” I said, but the phrase felt less electric this time. It felt oddly hollow.

To that, Carlisle said nothing. Back to doctor mode. Quieter. Colder. “Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy has shown promise in recent years as an option for coping with trauma. There are also professionals who specialize in helping you learn coping mechanisms, alter your reactions to difficult situations. I would be happy to refer you to any number of prominent specialists—on our family’s coin, of course, without reserve. Whatever treatment you seek, if any, we trust you to omit any...superfluous details.” Even his smile, now, was tired.

“I don’t…I don’t know. That’s not really...” I grimaced at the thought of sitting on a leather sofa talking about how I felt. I guess Charlie and I were alike in that way. “I don’t really feel. Like. Much.”

“Whatever your reaction, whatever path you choose to take, know that does not make your experience or pain any less real. And know that you have protection and a community in the Olympic coven. Always. If you need anything, ask. It is yours.”

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “Can I see Charlie now?” I pleaded.

Why did I ask? What could I say to the man?

I had no strength for any other apologies, heartbreak, feelings. I had no space for any more thoughts.

He deserved one. He needed to know. From the time I had left him, til the time he burst through the door in his disheveled uniform, a thousand apologies ran through my mind.

My lower lip trembled over them. I could only croak out one word: “Dad.” 

No fights. No apologies. Our reunion was much simpler.

He held me while I sobbed in his arms.

It was enough.


	25. Chapter 20

Unfortunately, this was not the Hallmark Channel.

“Grounded. Two weeks. I mean it.”

Here I sat again. Shotgun seat in Charlie’s car. Another sportscaster whining over the radio. Passing by the same thick trees we did that day he picked me up from the airport. Every shade of green I’ve ever encountered popped against one another like brushstrokes in a Monet painting. Every fractal of every living thing swirled together. All the colors breathed saturation into one another. Overhead, a sparkle of sunlight peeked through the canopy and spattered patches of light across the road ahead.

I didn’t know how I was going to get used to this freaky eyesight thing. It felt like walking through a dream. Or taking too much LSD.

I flinched at every flash of green.

“Yeah. That's fair,” I mumbled. “I dunno what I’m gonna do with this giant lump of a leg, anyway. Or what I’m gonna do without a truck.” I squeezed the phone in my hand, looking out at the scenery again. Wondering what Edward was doing. If he went hunting. If he ever came back.

 _Are you still alive?_ I had texted to him.

No response, of course.

“C’mon, girl. Stiffen up that upper lip,” he said. I swallowed butterflies. “Us Swans, we’re tough. Right?”

To keep my throat from tightening and the tears from pooling, I rolled my eyes, scoffing a laugh. “Tch. Right. Tell that to my tibia.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” he said. “Doc says you’ll heal up quick. I mean, cast off before June? I dunno much about bones, but that’s sounds like one hell of a tough tibia to me.”

I uttered a laugh at that. “Yeah. Maybe.” I had to swallow back a fresh batch of tears. It made my smile painful. “Thank you, Dad.”

Charlie didn’t look at me, but I noticed the smile under his mustache.

When we turned onto the familiar winding road to home, he said, “That’s something we’re gonna have to talk about, too, when we get back.” Charlie exchanged a glance with me; I frowned. “You, dating Dr. Cullen’s boy.”

Face hot, I said, “Only for like, a day.”

“One day, one month, doesn’t matter. When you’re ungrounded, I’m meeting him. I’ll tell you that right now. If he’s taking you out, I’ve got a right to know who he is.”

“Yeah. You will. He wants to. And I do, too. Want you to meet him.” A moment of silence passed. My voice was small. “Uh. Y’know, for what it’s worth, he did come by to introduce himself. Saturday. Before I…” _messed everything up._

“I saw,” he said, laser-focused on the nonexistent traffic in front of us.

I opened my mouth to speak. Said nothing.

What was I supposed to say? How could I tell him I…forgot?

Or…didn’t forget, I guess, but…

In my moment of hesitation, he continued. “Carlisle told me he and his wife met you. They thought you were charming and intelligent. Said Edward’s been over the moon since he met you.” Beat. “Said I should be proud to be your father.”

He kept his voice even, but I could feel the wince in his words. The uncertainty. Because of me. Because of what I said.

I had to tell him I forgot. I couldn’t let him think I thought all that stuff about him not being a father when…when I didn’t even know…

My thumb rubbed the screen of my phone. Zero messages.

“Guess you could do a lot worse than the doctor’s son, anyway.”

“Dad, we need to—” _talk._ I bit down on my tongue. What would I say? What would I tell him? How could I talk without crying? “Dr. Cullen’s right. You should be proud,” I told him softly. “Mom says I’m a lot like you. So.”

“Certainly are stubborn.” Charlie’s face fell. I followed his gaze. "Christ’s sake.”

As the car crept into the clearing of our house, as it crunched over the cracked gravelly drive, it pulled up next to an unfamiliar white hatchback. A woman wearing a heavy winter coat sitting on our porch perked up. Red-brown ringlet of hair poked through the hood.

“Holy shit!” I said.

“C’mon, Bells, watch the language,” Charlie groaned as I scrabbled to unlock my door.

My head popped out of the window. “ _Rene_!”

By then, she’d already rushed halfway across the driveway, close enough for me to see her teary, bloodshot eyes and Rudolph-red nose.

“Babygirl!” Rene flung the door open and collected me into her arms, bursting into sobs. “Oh god, Bella, look at you, it’s been a nightmare these last twenty-four hours…I mean, with you, and the flight, I _hate_ flights, and I left my phone in the taxi; the rental place at the airport only had SUVs…”

Meanwhile, Charlie had parked the car and slammed his own door, wheeling around the back of the vehicle to pop the trunk.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” I said, stroking her hair. “C’mon, don’t cry. Everything’s fine now.”

“I know, I know. I’m a mess. You’re the one who—” At that moment, Charlie handed me my crutches. Rene shot him a dirty look only reserved for catcallers and the occasional PTA mom. As I grabbed thanked Charlie, she rubbed the tears off her angry-red face before she spoke. “And you. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

“Don’t even start,” Charlie gruffed. “I call you two days ago to tell you your daughter’s in the hospital and suddenly you show up on my porch?”

“I’ll have you know I left my phone in—"

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked her before the arguments could start. “It wasn’t a big deal, Mom, honest. Just slid off the road.”

Officially, anyway.

Rene, sniffling, said, “No, no, I know, babygirl, I know. It was just an accident. I know.” She helped me out of the car and onto my crutches, but I shrugged her off out of instinct. Vertigo made me wobble when I rose, but my good leg, at least, was sturdy. “I wanted to come for your graduation, but I just—when I heard what happened, you know, I just, I had to come as soon as I could.” There was a pause. My brows crinkled. Today was Tuesday; the “crash” happened on Sunday. Phoenix to Port Angeles was a three-hour flight. “Bella, honey, can we catch up? Maybe we can talk? Go get pancakes or something? I don’t have to check in the Fairmont until three.”

“C’mon Rene, the kid just got out of the hospital,” said Charlie.

She threw another angry, tearful look at her ex-husband. “You have no right to tell me when I can talk to my daughter.”

“Can’t it least wait until tomorrow once she’s slept in her own bed for a night? You should’ve called.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t take her without—"

“Guys. Please,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut at their rising voices. My head pounded. “Don’t.” After a moment of awkward silence, they mumbled a begrudging apology. “I can talk. Is the porch okay? I’m not hungry yet. I just wanna sit in the sun.” My head spun. Rene, with a hiccup-giggle and teary eyes, smiled and nodded, wrapping her arms comfortingly around my shoulders. I shrugged her off.

“You uh. Need help?” Charlie asked me, nodding at my leg. As if I’d forgot.

“Thanks,” I said. _God, this ‘everyone offering to help me’ thing is gonna drive me insane..._ “I’ll be alright. I’ll be in in a little bit. And then maybe...we can talk.”

His eyebrows raised at that word. “Talk. Sure. Yeah. I’ll whip us up something to eat. How ‘bout that; sound good?” At the thought of Charlie’s cooking, we both grimaced. “Uh. Well. I’ll make us PB&Js, anyway.”

“No, really, I can do it,” I assured him. Though by that point, he had already left our sides for the house, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.

As far as Rene’s offer of help went, she did her thing where she fretted over every step I took but didn’t do more beyond that. Leaving me limp and hop up the path to the porch.

Which, admittedly, was not so bad. My muscles must’ve gotten the venom treatment too. My right leg didn’t shake underneath me. Didn’t tire from supporting the brunt of my weight.

Fair to say, I was as quick and graceful as I could be with a useless left leg.

That said, I collapsed into the porch chair, bathing in the dappled sunlight that poked through the trees edging our yard. But I couldn't relax. Even though the rays warmed me, I couldn’t help but scan the trees that lined the property. Just in case.

If I saw the green lights, how much time would I have to throw myself in front of Rene?

I squeezed my chilly left hand.

“Still old Bella,” my mother joked in a low voice. “Always out in the sun.”

I chuckled, slumping over my thighs so I could see behind Rene’s shoulder. I would have to keep my eye on that clearing in the forest behind her. Just in case. "Not always. I take what I can get here,” I said. A beat passed between us. A silence. Some unspoken, unsure silence. Like we didn’t remember how to talk to each other.

To be fair, it was kinda like old times. Inside jokes, funny anecdotes, Rene’s random interjections. (“Hey, do you know what happened to my red sweater? I can’t find it.”)

But she also tried asking me a lot of questions about what had happened that night, telling me how _pissed_ she was at Charlie—

 _Stop, Rene._ “So, uh…just you, then? Is Phil here?”

I had to distracted her. I couldn’t hear her rag on Charlie. Talk to her. Look at her, even.

I couldn’t fit all the pieces together.

While I heard her gab, wheels turned in my head. What did I remember? Summers here, several of them, and a sudden end. Scattered holidays with Charlie, snowy and blue-tinted. With Rene, I recalled nightlights and crying. Sleep paralysis. Easels and fingerpaints and magic markers. Didn’t Rene date a psychiatrist? Maybe we drew a bunch of pictures together?

Or…was that not real?

Was any of it real?

"Phil’s not here. He’s training. That’s what I wanted to see you, actually. I have great news. You’ll love this: Phil, he got signed!”

I bobbed my head slowly. “Phil got signed,” I echoed, pasting on a hollow grin.

Rene did that thing where she attempted this soft excitement to dull her own anxiety. “The Suns. Can you believe it? Just a couple months ago we were thinking we'd have to go to Akron. Ugh! Can you imagine? _Snow_?"

"Yeah, if you’ve got a parka on in Washington, lord knows what you’d need for Ohio…” I joked, and we giggled. The mood lightened. “Yeah. Baseball. That's great, Rene. Congrats. To him. And to you.”

And she said: "You'll love Jacksonville, honest to god, it’s incredible.”

 _Wait, what?_ “Oh? Really?”

“Oh! God, Bella, you of all people would love it. Sunny all the time, right on the beach, plus! okay, I know what they say about Florida. But the humidity is seriously a non-issue. Totally balmy. We bought the cutest house, ranch-style, yellow with white trim, and a porch. A _porch_ ; can you believe it?! Oh, god, and the yard’s got this huge tree, I don’t even know what kind it is, but they’re _everywhere_ in Florida. And it's just a few minutes from the ocean! And best part—you ready?”

Ready? Ready for what? Did I miss something?

The expectant look on Rene’s face made me think I was supposed to speak. What could I say? “Uh…what’s the best part?”

“Phil got full custody of his little boy. You remember David, yeah, from the wedding? He moved in with us just a few weeks ago, and now we’ll have everyone living under the same roof!”

‘Everyone’ had been living in Jacksonville?

Why did ‘everyone’ include everyone but me?

Rene kept talking. “But of course, you'll have your own room and bathroom—"

Wait. “Me?” My voice cracked. “W-why, why—what?"

“You deserve it. Hundred percent. Especially after all those years of couches and sleeping bags.” Rene chuckled with sympathy and shook my unbroken leg gently.

I brushed her off. While she was leaning over me, my eyes darted across the treeline behind her. “Yeah, but…why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Jacksonville? I could go to Jacksonville?

Rene could take me away from here?

“Aw, come on. I knew you’d be like this. I just was waiting for the right moment, that’s all. Making sure the details were ironed out first. I know surprises sorta freak you out. But this is a good surprise. It’s figured out. I figured it out. Ta-da!” At the sight of my conflicted furrow of my brows, she said, “Bella, baby! Porch! Family! You remember the house in _Gilmore Girls_? It seriously looks like that. And that’s us now. That’s _our_ house. That’s _our_ family. Can you believe it? We’ll have Sunday dinners and Little League games and movie nights—”

“Charlie,” I uttered, collected all my swimming thoughts. “What about him? What about Forks?”

A long tail of silence followed my question. “Yeah. Hon. I think. Maybe we should revisit the Forks thing,” she said, voice hushed and demure. Before I could protest, her cold, fine-lined hands grabbed mine. “Look. I know I sort’ve gave you that ultimatum in Phoenix. But. Ugh! You were right, I know, I just—I was mad. I was upset. I didn’t think it through.” She looked up at me with guilty eyes.

What was I supposed to tell her? “I’m not looking for an ‘I told you so.’”

“I know. But it’s still true and, I know…I know I need to be accountable. It was a stupid mistake. But I didn’t think it would end with you…” Her face twisted up.

My voice didn’t rise above a hoarse whisper. “It was just a car accident.”

I didn’t like the way she looked at me. As if about to ask me if I was sure about that. I couldn’t speak. “Bella, I got a call at two in the morning from Charlie saying you were in the hospital and I…I can’t be so far away when you…if something…”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“But, okay, think of it this way: if something—if anything were to happen to you, don’t, don’t you think maybe Jacksonville is better? You’d have your family. Phil. David. And Nona just moved into the nursing home near Gainesville; did I mention that already?”

All I said was, “I’ve got Charlie.”

But she ignored me. “Anyway, you’ll have _people_ , Bella. Family. It’ll be much better for you than Forks. Listen: I booked us a double-bed at the Fairmont. Okay? I have two return tickets to Jacksonville. If you want it. You could go home tomorrow. Honest, really, I really did think of everything.” She even flashed me a grin to prove to me how sure she was. “It’s changed, now.”

And I stared at her open-mouthed in return. Then I looked down at my phone.

_Isn’t it changed, now? Isn’t it different?_

I wish I could say this hasn’t happened before.

But. Life with Rene. Full of surprises. You know the drill.

Last time it was Phoenix: _“Bella, baby, two plane tickets to Phoenix, new apartment at seven-hundred a month, and the best part? This building has a doorman. You in?”_

The time before that was Albuquerque _: “A weekend in Albuquerque—imagine the sun! could it get better? And if we happen to find a place we like along the way, preferably under fifteen-hundred a month…”_

This time it was Jacksonville: sunny with picket fences and Floridian trees and beautiful beaches. A world where all bills are paid in full on time and landlords always send someone over to fix the plumbing. A place where Rene and I would finally put down roots.

When that didn’t work out, where would the next dream be? What would 'next time' look like?

I talked as if weights, bearing down on my chest, crushed me. “I’m—I just got to Forks. And now you want me to— I bought books and CDs and, and I don’t to sell them, I don’t want to pack my bags again, I just put posters up, I just—Charlie and I have a chore chart.”

_Stop it._

Maybe it wouldn’t be all bad. Maybe I was just being cynical.

Maybe the wedding really did change everything, like she said it would, and she really did figure it all out.

Maybe we really would be a family now: David and Phil and Rene. And me. Doing...family things. Like going out to Applebees. Or grilling at the park. Playing Scattergories or something, I dunno. Dinner parties. Whatever families did, we’d do those things. And everything would be wonderful. I could forget this ever happened. No vampires would chase me.

I lit up the screen of my phone again.

One unread message. From him.

It would be easy enough, wouldn’t it? To forget?

After all, I did a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

“It’s all figured out,” she told me in that hushed, rhythmic voice. “You can ship your stuff no problem, I can take some stuff back in my bag, anything you want. You just—I want you back. You can’t stay in Forks, with Charlie, it’s just, it’s too dangerous, don’t you think?”

Yeah. Forks. The gloomy, cold, wet abyss from where, apparently, I had traumatic memories. Where it rained, always. Where everything bloomed, magically. Impossibly. Which was kinda cool, I guess.

And where the diners had fifty-cent pancakes on Fridays, and the houses hid in trees like roaming ghosts. And where you could spend a Saturday afternoon on the beach with Forks High’s top reporter. Go dress shopping with the girl who dared to love Eric Newton. Listen to your dad’s gruff lecture on why it’s unacceptable to take the punt over the two-point conversion on third-down when you’re down by one with fifteen seconds on the clock.

Where you could find the most dazzling meadow ever created, go there in secret with the most dazzling vampire you’ve ever met, and fall in love with him there.

 _You are my life now,_ Edward’s opened text read.

I turned the screen face-down on my leg, swallowing.

It’s cheesy. I know it’s cheesy. Lord knows I’m not one to make an overwrought monologue like Edward.

But it had to be at a least a little overwrought, right?

Airbrushing the good parts kept the hurt from seeping in.

Forks was the only place I could call home.

Where else could I go—Phoenix? I’d probably never return. Georgi, my only real connection there, had no reason to talk to me again. And Rene would never—I mean, maybe not _never_ —but she wouldn’t be…there. In Phoenix. In my life. Anymore. She had Phil, David—a new family. A new home. In Jacksonville.

I would just be living there.

At least, in Forks, I could pretend I belonged.

That would have to be enough for me.

So I might as well be cheesy about it.

“I can’t go.”

Watching Rene’s face fall was the worst part of it all. “What? Can’t go, why? Don’t, don’t you hate Forks? It’s a little dangerous, don’t you think?”

 _You don’t even know_. I swallowed and squeezed my phone. I said, almost accusatorily, “I’m about to graduate. Get a job. I have friends. I have — I have a boyfriend. I’m applying for college this fall, I—”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“I have a life and you, you, you’re—”

“A boyfriend?” she echoed, like I’d just told her she’d have to climb a thirteen-foot-high wall to get to me. “Bella, I have—we could go right now. You and I. New adventure. And it—this is the last time, really, honest.”

I cracked. Hot pain twisted through my skull. “C’mon, don’t say that. It is _not_ the last time.”

“It is, honest, you remember when I said—”

“You—you _always_ say that. Don’t tell me that. Don’t. I can’t, I can’t hear it again, I can’t—You always say it’s the last time—"

“Yeah, but we bought the house this time."

“—but Albuquerque was supposed to be the last time. _Phoenix_ was supposed to be the last time. And I— Stop. Forks is it _,_ Rene. Forks was the last time. This is the last time. I’m not going. I’m not leaving home.” I couldn’t breathe with the pain of everything choking me, my ribs, my leg, my throat, my lungs. I wrapped my good arm around my midsection.

Trust me—a year ago, I would’ve said Yes. Whole-heartedly. I would’ve been a good daughter. I would’ve packed my bags and flown to god-awful Florida. I woulda gone to Florida State and taken care of David on weekends and watched Little League games and visited Nona and taken pay-day joyrides out in the Toyota Camry with Rene.

That’s why it hurt so bad to say No.

It wasn’t worth the flashes of fun. The drunken Elton John serenades, the dress shopping at Goodwill, the power outages, the burnt three-day-old rice—

No one tells you the un-fun parts of a fun new life. No one tells you that adventures are hard and painful.

But they are.

And what do you have to show for it in the end, if there is no end?

In the silence of our conversation, I looked down at my phone like I was checking the time.

 _Can we talk?_ I texted Edward.

“Is it the guy?” she asked me then, quiet. “Is that why you want to stay?”

I shrugged. Who knew. I wanted to stay because of Edward. Of course. I wanted to stay because of Charlie. And Angela and Jess and Jake and Billy and Alice and _yes_ , even Eric.

I wanted to stay because where else could I go?

She hesitated. "If—I mean, if you wanted to think about it, you know, we could head back to the hotel, get something to eat. I…Bella, you—”

“Bells,” I corrected. “It’s Bells.”

Another pause. “You really shouldn’t be thinking about rearranging your whole life for…." Her voice was unsure. As far as I could remember, this was the first time since forever that she tried to sound like a parental authority. That voice right there was the reasonable-but-firm tone of voice from lectures I'd had with her about men, her thinly veiled projection.

“Thanks for the advice,” I muttered. I hobbled onto my crutches. Rene rose with me, but not to help. She just stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I love you, Rene. I’m gonna…I think I’m gonna sleep on it. At Dad’s. And we can get pancakes tomorrow morning. Right?”

Rene tripped over her words. “Oh. Y— Well. The flight. It. Sorta leaves early. So. You should get rest. I shouldn’t have…” She breathed in. "I should've booked something later."

And I guess she wanted me to kill the silence for her. To say that, yes, she should have come, and yes, she belonged here, with me, yes, I wanted to go to Jacksonville.

“We can talk about it later,” Rene continued, hiding her disappointed expression by digging through her purse. “When you’re graduated, we can talk about it.” Beat. “You’d really like Jacksonville.”

“I’m sure I really would,” I said.

She pulled out a pen with a printed Country Inn & Suites tag on it and a crumpled receipt. As she jotted a number she said, “If you change your mind, I’m right here. And I…I’ll talk to you soon. We’ll talk soon. We’ll get this squared away. Jacksonville is great. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

I nodded, folding the scrap of paper she handed me. “I’m sure I will." Beat. "I love you.”

We embraced. I pretended like she didn’t shake from silent sobs in my arms.

“I love you too,” she croaked.

As she cried to the car and cried down the driveway, my phone vibrated in my pocket. But I didn’t reach for it. I watched my mother go.

And I thought maybe the last time I had seen her was the worst I had ever hurt her.

But I think this took the cake.

When I entered, Charlie was standing there at the front door. He even held it open for me.

“I grilled the PB&Js,” he offered in a soft voice, as if that could make up for my final fight with Rene.

“Sounds great, Dad," I said in a thick voice.

The PB&Js, the overbearing father, the grumbling gray skies, the nightmares.

It would have to be enough.

It was the best I could do.


	26. Epilogue: An Occasion

“I promised Edward I wasn’t gonna look. Hold still.”

Alice scraped the fine-tooth comb up my roots. I winced under her.

Certainly, she'd seen herself torturing me for hours under siege from a fine-toothed comb and makeup brush. Influences of Alice appeared everywhere in my bedroom: bolts of fabric on the desk, pins and a curler on the end table, eyeshadow palettes on the bed, perfume and hairspray poisoning the oxygen. Several times, I told her, Alice, it’s not the 1980s anymore. We really don’t have to go for the over-the-top teased Dolly Parton look.

But she insisted things would turn out great. Down to the hair, down to the nails, down to the dress.

_But why?_

“Aw c’mon, you won’t even tell me basics? Where I’m going? What—ow!”

“’Hold still’ doesn’t mean ‘do weird, flinch-y human stuff.’ You said I had free reign to make you—”

“I know what I said.”

“—look beautiful for your first official date.” Alice had stars in her eyes as she mercilessly yanked at the roots of my hair. “Consider this a personal favor.”

I huffed, but she didn’t ease up. I would’ve watched her work, but she had me turned away from the mirror. So fingered the bracelet Alice lent me and said, “D'you think he's feeling better, at least? Edward? Be honest.”

Several weeks had passed, and he had yet to return to school. Rumor had it he got expelled for blackmailing Banner into giving test answers, and Banner had gotten fired for giving them to him. Edward got a good laugh from that when I told him.

Sources close to him (read: Alice) said he struggled. To hunt. To reintegrate.

Where I had been grounded for just two weeks, Edward had been "grounded" for much, much longer.

I guess human blood was one hell of a drug. Not that he ever said anything on our phone calls.

“Totally,” she chirped. Though maybe she was saying that because she knew how bad I felt about the whole thing. Alice grabbed chunks of my hair and began to twist the strands. “Much better. Basically back to normal. We made him drink a lot for tonight, so.”

The entirety of her answer made me nervous and excited in ways I didn’t want to admit. “And you really won’t tell me why we’re stuffing me into a dress and doing my— _ow_!—hair? C’mon. Carlisle said you should practice reading me. Am I gonna have fun, at least?”

“Isabella Marie! As if you wouldn't have fun. No, I’m not telling you,” she said. “Even if I did make a promise, I’m liking this whole ‘don’t look at the future’ thing. It’s a nice change of pace. And I’ll need brownie points if I’m going to ask Edward for any more favors. I’ve kinda got one lined up already.”

My darkened, manicured brows furrowed. “Wow. You move quick, huh?”

“The future doesn’t wait,” said Alice low and somber by my ear. “I’ll have my work cut out for me this summer. And I’ll need to borrow him for a few days.”

“What for?”

She resumed braiding. “Oh, this and that.” Her vague response made my stomach knot. “Anyway, separating him from you is going to be the issue. I don’t need the future to know that. But I’ll work around it. Maybe I can get him to take you to Arcadia. Ooh! Or maybe—” Alice gasped, eyes going blank. She froze.

My heart iced over.

“What? What is it?” My eyes darted out the window of my bedroom, scanning for lights in the treeline.

Her words spilled out: “The San Francisco Ballet is going to be performing _Sleeping Beauty_ on June fourteenth and you’re going to be wearing this _stunning_ —” Alice slapped her head with her hand. Inhaled. “Grr. Stop looking!”

We sighed, for different reasons.

“You okay?” I said once my sense of relief had faded.

"Uh-huh."

“If you don’t wanna see the future, I won’t ask. I'm sorry.”

Alice, who still had her eyes shut and comb clenched in her hand, said, “No, yeah, I’m—I’m fine. I don’t mind. It’s just, I’ve gotten—” She sighed again. After a breath, she said in a tight voice, “I’m just trying to control it. Edward’s trying to help. Making me promise not to look. I’m trying.” Beat. “I thought with James gone, it’d be... different. Less.”

 _Me too._ “At least it was the good future,” I said.

Alice gave me a hollow smile. Bouts of sadness were rare for Alice—or so Edward had told me. And they had become more frequent since James.

It hurt. To see her. To not know what to say.

“Sometimes the good future is worse. It’s distracting. I can’t—I’m trying not to get distracted. I can’t be undisciplined.” She ran the comb through my hair again, then resumed braiding. In a low voice, she said, “I can’t let something like James happen again. I have to be better.”

“I understand," I said. "Wanting to be better. But, but it won’t happen again,” I said. James and Victoria, they were both dead. “Right?”

Or…I was pretty sure Victoria was dead.

Am I remembering that wrong?

 _Was Victoria dead?_ I wanted to ask.

“That’s really not something you need to worry about,” she said in that dismissive, nonchalant tone. Then she had uncapped the hairspray and suffocated me in an aerosol cloud. I coughed. “We’re going to take care of everything.”

 _Take care of…wait, what?_ “Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m happy to help. Anything you need.”

“No help needed. Thanks.”

_Oh._

Her shutting me out stunned me into shock and embarrassment.

Or. Well. I'm not sure how I could have helped. Obviously, y’know, being human…maybe I couldn't do much.

But I wasn’t necessarily useless.

And…I didn’t necessarily have to be human, either.

“…wants you to enjoy your life. Do fun things. Like regular people who aren’t involved in vampires do.” Clamping a cold hand on my bare shoulder, Alice snapped me back into reality. “Hey. We’re not thinking about that right now, right? We’re in the present. You’re going on a date. Tell me you aren’t the hottest gal in the tri-state area. Ready?”

With a bubbly, excited giggle, Alice whipped my chair around, body blocking the mirror. She helped me rise. Then she darted away.

In the end, Alice had modified the ever-loving hell out of my off-the-rack dress. That girl _really_ knew her way around a needle and scissors. The back had disappeared, and the modest sweetheart neckline had plunged. Its now-scalloped edge drew the eye right to my chest, while the flared, pleated skirt drew attention to my waist. Alice had also taken the liberty of sewing on appliques of bluish-green roses and swirling leaves along the front, and embroidering an intricate, lacy pattern in several flashing shades of blue at the hem.

Though I had lost fabric in the neck and back of the dress, I gained lacy, off-the-shoulder sleeves. I would say that they were the only part that kept my dress up high enough to keep everything in place. In reality, the fabric gathered so snugly at my hips that, realistically, if I had lost the sleeves, the dress would hold up on its own simply by exact measurements and sheer force of will.

We stared at the woman in the mirror.

She grinned. “Get it? Swan?” Then her face dissolved. “Wait, heck. I skipped the joke.”

I groaned to muffle my laughter.

But I guess, looking in the mirror, it seemed less like a joke and more like a confident statement of fact. My reddish-brown locks tumbled in voluminous waves down one side of my face and pinned up and braided on the other. Wine-red lips, contour, and sharp eyeliner wings matured my face by several years.

I recognized every part of me and nothing at all.

Then again, it wasn’t the first time in the last few weeks that I had been caught off-guard by my reflection.

In the days following the accident, my bruises had dissolved into clear, airbrushed skin. If I squinted hard enough, I could still see the details of my human face—the fine lines, the pores, ghosts of freckles and acne scars waiting to pop out in the sun. But all had blurred into a dewy, milky white. Enough for the humans in my life to take notice.

That was the story with my other injuries, too. In just two weeks, the deep grooves that wrapped around my wrist, and the messy crescent made by Edward that eclipsed the trails, scarred over. Enough to cause notice, surely. Carlisle insisted I wear a medical sleeve for weeks afterward to avoid suspicion; just like he continued to make me wear this stupid boot when I didn’t _really_ have to.

But I wasn't sure, in the end, if I could really "avoid suspicion."

Turning in the mirror, the streaks of white-pink scar tissue on my back still startled me, even now.

The marks so clearly resembled deep gashes from claws. There was no way to hide what happened.

Humans would wonder.

Alice caught my wince, even though I tried to look down so she wouldn’t see.

“I love the dress,” I said.

“You’re gorgeous,” she told me in a soft voice.

“Thank you.”

Reaching at human speed, Alice encircled my left hand in hers. Where her skin met my scars, there was no discrepancy in temperature. She felt as warm as I did. It startled me.

“You know you’re beautiful, don’t you? Scars don’t change that.”

“Yeah. I know. It's. Just. They make me look…” My brows twisted. What— _human? inhuman?_ I dropped my eyes to the floor. “I don’t know.”

“They make you look like a badass woman who fought a vampire and won,” Alice said with a crooked smile and a wink. When she saw my lips twitch up, she nudged me with her shoulder to draw a full smile out of me.

I nudged her shoulder back with mine. “Only 'cause you guys saved me,” I said, heart sinking. When I squeezed my left hand, chills shot up my arm.

_This couldn’t happen again. I couldn’t let this happen again._

If Victoria was alive…how would I save myself next time? What if she came after Jake, or Billy? Or Charlie?

Or Edward?

What would I do then?

“Are you kidding? I, honestly, Bells, I thought we were going to be too late. I didn’t see any situation where we could get to you before Victoria did.” Her incredulous expression dissolved into a smirk. “I think that’s why I read you wrong. I never take into account the fact that you’re tough as nails. And stubborn as an ox. So says Edward.”

“A flock of ox. Yeah. Family trait,” I mumbled, distracted by the way the scarred skin pulled at my freckled, unscarred flesh. Like Victoria was still there, knuckle-deep, tearing, ripping—

“They make you look resilient,” she continued. “They make you look tough. They remind me how wonderful you are. How brave you are. How much I love you, and— Whoawhoawhoa, stop, do _not_ tear up; your lashes are too perfect to cry. Ahh! Bells!” She fanned my face with her hands and I giggled, turning away to wipe my undereyes before they could clump my mascara’d lashes together.

In the mirror, I sniffled once and took in my reflection again. “I know. You’re right. I know.”

“But. Just in case.” Alice darted to the bed. Then her face popped out from behind my neck, catching my eyes in the mirror. In a flash of silky fabric, a royal blue shawl slipped over my shoulders. Alice smoothed the wrinkles out of the cloth in the spot where my scars were. I managed a smile, dropped my shoulders. “There. It’s all better now.” Her cool breath tickled the back of my neck. “Maybe I don’t need the future to be right all the time.”

That flash of a cocky, knowing Alice brought a small smile to my lips.

In this moment, life felt normal. It felt okay. Like things had changed for the better, instead of for worse.

If that were the case, maybe I could be glad things had changed at all.

“Thank you, Alice.”

“What are sisters for?” Alice smiled at me with her signature cocky, knowing smile. “But if you know what’s good for you, you better send me pictures,” and winked. Then she bolted out of the room, yipping “Charlie!” and proclaiming, “Look at your daughter! Look at how beautiful she is! Incredible! Breathtaking! I can’t stand it! Edward, Mom says be back home by midnight or she’ll…”

In the mirror, I tried ironing out the hesitance in my smile while I waited for Alice’s peppery chatter to fade. Of course, I was excited to see Edward for the first time in weeks. Excited to do whatever the hell we were doing in these fancy clothes. Excited to move forward. With him.

Out of instinct, my eyes drifted to the window. Early evening bled out the last of the sunshine; it splashed and spilled over fluffy cumulus clouds. From the darkened line of trees below, I could see no green light, hear no footsteps crunching over forest floor. No one was lurking in the shadows. Duh. Obviously.

Things were okay.

I shook the ice out of my bites to keep my left hand from locking up.

Life was normal. Everything was okay. All I had to do now was get out of my own head.

With one last sigh, I gathered up my nerves and shoved them to the back of my brain.

As I clomped downstairs, I could hear Edward telling Charlie that he wanted to go to Dartmouth and eventually become a doctor, like his father. By the time he’d gotten to the part about maybe squeezing in some military service before med school, Edward trailed off, glittering cidery eyes falling on me. And my dress. And me. And…

Dammit. I had been away from him for too long. He was dazzling me. _Me_!

Edward’s lips twisted in that mischievous smirk that made me wonder what he’d say if my father wasn’t standing two feet away.

“Finally got to wear that suit,” I remarked in a low voice and crooked smile. I cleared the nervousness from my throat. “Nice bowtie.”

You’re lucky I didn’t bust out the tailcoats.”

“But the top hat and the monocle’s in the car, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah. Right,” said Charlie, sipping his beer. “Anyway. Nice to meet you, son.”

Edward smirked at me, winking too quick for Charlie to notice. I blushed. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said with a smile. It had just enough old-world dazzle to throw Charlie for a loop, and just enough snark to remind me that Edward could have easily been Charlie’s grandfather. “Bells, I’ve just got to grab something from the car. Meet you outside, hm?”

“Sounds good.”

At first, I had wondered why Edward would leave the house without me. Then as I grabbed my leather bomber jacket off the hook, Charlie choked out, “Bells.”

“Hm?” When I turned around, Charlie had one hand rubbing the back of his neck. The other was shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He wore a pained expression.

Ah. So Edward’s choice to leave made sense, then.

“You, uh…you look beautiful, kiddo.” He coughed, trying to swallow the last word.

I hugged him. Actually. Not like one of those weird father-daughter one-armed hugs that had been our signature.

"Thanks, Dad."

“Honest. Have fun tonight.”

Did Charlie know where we were going? Did everyone know what we were doing but me?

“I don’t know what the f— _heck_ you’re talking about with this ‘fun’ business,” I joked shyly. He chuckled. “But I’ll try."

“And if it turns out you’re gonna be late, just…remember to text. Is all. —And call me if you need a ride. Doesn’t matter the hour.”

“I’ll be back around midnight,” I said. “Promise.”

And as I opened the door: “And uh, hon? Be careful tonight, huh? With the Cullen kid?”

I froze, hand on the doorhandle.

The _Cullen_ kid? What did him being ‘Cullen’ have to do with it?

“Something wrong with the Cullens?”

“Nothin,” he said. “Nothin. People talk, is all. I’m just saying, you know, be careful. You can always call me.”

My heart sunk, wide eyes freezing in their position.

_People talk._

Sure. How many people did Charlie gossip with, anyway? Who would talk to Charlie about the Cullens?

Billy.

_He knows what happened. He called to warn Charlie._

The flash of thoughts made my laugh uneven. “No worries. I still have the bear spray you slipped in my purse.” And I gave him a knowing glare.

That gave me the confidence to leave—at least on an unsuspicious note.

Bear spray wouldn’t work on vampires. Probably. I mean. Not that I was going to use it on Edward. But. Just. If a bad vampire happened to come by. Bear spray probably wouldn’t work. Right?

Billy might know. Billy knew about the vampires.

In the right light, it was kinda relieving that Billy knew what happened. I could talk to him, explain the whole thing about the Cullens, get—

“Help?” said Edward, wrapping his arm around my waist and shifting my weight so I leaned against him. He had met me on the first porch step to support me.

“Oh, uh thanks, I’m okay, I'm—”

“You always say you’re fine, so I’m taking the liberty of ignoring you.” Edward’s left hand grazed my arm and grabbed mine, thumb brushing over his bite, _god, it feels good_ — “It’s good to see you,” he whispered, moving slower than human speed to peck me on the cheek.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and crushed myself to him.

“Finally.”

“Finally.”

This wasn’t like the hospital: intense, confusing, desperate, instinctual, incomprehensible.

This felt simple. Coming home to relax. Popping open a soda in the summer sun. Mellow.

Still embracing me, he turned and skipped down the steps, light on his feet.

I burst into laughter, whining at him until he set me down on the ground. As we walked to the car, I clung to him.

“Okay. So. I’ve been toying with it a lot, but I think it’s finally safe to say, this is the best playlist you’ll ever hear in your life,” I said, pulling the USB out of Alice’s borrowed clutch.

He took it, kissing the back of my right hand. “Describe it to me,” he said, opening the passenger door.

I kept talking even as I climbed in. “Jazz, swing, some of those softer classic blues songs, just a touch of R&B and soul—gorgeous. Exquisite. A Sunday Night Slow Jam for sure.” He slid into the driver’s side and started the car just as I said, “You’ll never want to listen to anything else again, quite frankly.”

“Quite the endorsement. Now I have something for you. Hang on.” He reached in the seat behind me, pulling out a plastic box. From inside, he removed a beaded bracelet with fresh orchids and morning glories on top.

"May I?" he said, sliding the bracelet on to my wrist.

“A corsage?” _What the hell would I need a c—_ My hand ripped out of his. "Wait." My face fell. Ice crept up my arm from the bite; I squeezed my fist open and shut to shake it out. Looked down at my dress. My _dress_. “No. Nonono.”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to figure it out, to be perfectly honest.” His grin got even wider and more devilish.

By that point, I had my seatbelt on. The doors had been locked. The car was in motion.

“I-I—”

Yes, why _had_ it taken me so long to figure it out?

I think, if I wanted to be honest with myself, I would know the answer.

But that night, I wasn’t being honest.

_Fuck._

“ _Prom_?” I squeaked, watching it unfold from behind the windshield.

While I’d expected Forks to throw their senior ball in the gym or something, the event space we pulled up to seemed more like what rich suburban-kid’s high school dance would be like: some hoity-toity Tudor-style country club tucked into the trees, landscaped just enough to keep the forest from swallowing it up.

Nervous teen energy smothered the old-charm quiet of the joint. They hopped out of their parents’ cars and limos in droves, sporting flashy gowns, thick makeup, and crumpled suits, grinning and laughing and joking all the way. Even the ancient forest couldn’t drown out the sounds of life.

Then there was Edward and me.

Pulled up in our hundred-thousand-dollar car wearing thousand-dollar outfits that clashed with our subtle grimaces.

Prom.

_Really?_

“It’s an important rite of passage,” he replied. By that point, Edward had already shut off the engine and opened the door for me, offering his hand.

I looked at it. “According to who?”

“To _whom_. And, America.”

“Ugh. Stupid, dumb America,” I grumbled, snatching his hand.

Even with the leather jacket on, my bare legs wobbled in the cold. Edward tucked me into his side as he locked the door and stuffed the jingling keys in his pocket.

He hesitated to a halt when we reached the sidewalk out front.

Heart racing, breath catching, my attention darted to the forest around us, thinking he had seen—something. Someone. Maybe.

Instead of watching for vampires, though, Edward’s dark eyes combed through the people around us. Picking through their thoughts.

Smelling their blood.

_Oh._

I put on a hand on his chest, snapping him out of his train of thought. “Hey. C’mon. We don’t have to do this. Especially if makes you uncomfortable.”

Edward’s face flickered at my meaning, but a sly, confident smirk took its place. He took my hand from his chest and planted a kiss in the middle of my palm. “Nice try.”

“I’m serious.”

“Trust me,” he whispered near my ear, offering me his arm. Out of instinct, I looped my hand into the crook of his forearm, but dug my nails in tight to his coat and huffed to remind him that I was, in fact, still unhappy. We walked towards the large double doors. “Don’t you pout with those red lips of yours.”

“They pout naturally. In moments of duress.”

That made him laugh. It broke my brooding cloud.

Once inside, we walked through balloon arches and copious amounts of twisted crepe paper, past crowds of hyped kids taking selfies and posting up in gaggles around the dance floor.

Edward played the part. He slipped our prom tickets to the vendor like he was bribing his way into the country club, weaved me through the throngs of people like a silk thread though a sewing machine.

All the while, he didn’t breathe. His pasted-on smile didn’t falter. Though he moved with grace, his muscles never relaxed.

Which made sense, considering the sweaty, stuffy room we entered. Flashing lights, pumping basslines, and a hundred high schoolers with an exponential number of spoken and unspoken thoughts.

All in one hellish nightmare of a room.

If he had any discomfort, anyone but me would’ve been none the wiser.

Edward Cullen knew how to play the part.

“Do you want me to bolt the doors so you can massacre the unsuspecting townsfolk?” I whispered.

It sent tiny, staticky thrills down my spine to know I was the one that could catch Edward off-guard. Or at least soften him up. He chuckled. “Only if you deliver my manifesto to Channel 11 when it’s over.”

“Sure thing. What d’you wanna say?”

“EDM should be against the law.”

Now it was my turn to be caught off-guard; I laughed. Before I could launch into some half-baked shpeal about why he was wrong, he rubbed my shoulder and said, “There’s Angela and Jess. Why don’t you go take a picture with them?”

By that, he meant, ‘You’re going to take a picture with them.’ Because by the time I had spotted my friends on the dance floor with Eric and that one guy from my math class, Edward had already swept me into the crowd.

He pretended not to hear my squeaky, whispered protests.

What more could I say? That night, he played the part. _Perfect_. A smooth, sardonic greeting (“Lovely night for EDM, isn’t it?”), compliments for Jess and Ang (“Ladies, you’re looking radiant, as always.”), followed by a charming anecdote, and a quick excuse to slip away: a perfectly timed phone call.

What a guy.

The whole exchange lasted no more than a minute.

But the mastery and ease and grace left me breathless, left Jess and Ang wide-eyed and squealing at me just as soon as he was “out of earshot."

 _Holy shit,_ we fawned in girlish giggles. _This guy was a socialite._

“Dude, I can’t believe—” “You took Edward Cullen? To _prom_?” “Bells, did you ever find out how he got expelled?”

In the flurry of questions and giggles and jokes, I pulled out my phone. “Pictures? I’ll tell you all about it.”

Y’know those teen movies where the party montages feel like sexy snapshots you would wanna keep with you forever?

That’s what those pictures, those moments, felt like. Fun and goofy and sexy and silly and all, just…effort.

I looked for Edward among the darkness, flashing lights, wallflowers.

Nothing.

But it was fun. I had fun. As we snapped photos and talked and laughed, I danced with Angela, joked around with Jess, and gave Eric the full scoop on Edward and Mr. Banner:

“He’s a pedophile. Edward pulled off this entire sting operation to blackmail him, Banner resigned, then the schoolboard found out Edward was doing it _again_ to another teacher and expelled him before he could expose the ugly truth.”

“ _What_?!” hissed Eric. “No way. You’re lying. What other teacher? How did Edward find out about Banner?”

“Bells, stop!” Angela nudged me, rolling her eyes and laughing. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Dude, of course I’m lying,” I said, swatting his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Edward got a bad case of mono and strep. Get a grip.”

I patted him on the chest and slipped away as the swears burst out of him. Angela howled with laughter and her own teasing jokes.

Smooth as silk. Just as good as Edward Cullen.

After a treacherous hobble out of the ballroom, I found him in the lobby, sitting in the armchair across from the large stone fireplace. One hand sunk into each arm of the chair. Closed eyes.

“Thanks a lot, hotshot,” I grumbled, and his eyes fluttered open. He gave me a small, tired smile. “Don’t think you can pawn me off that easy.” Though he moved slow and smooth, I could see the holes he had sliced with his nails near the seams of the leather chair. His eyes had darkened to a burnt honey.

“Having fun?”

"Yeah. Edward, I…” I leaned over one of the arms to get some weight off my foot, my face inches from his. “Listen. I, uh, appreciate what you’re trying to do for me with all this…fun. It's actually kinda enjoyable. But. I’m not really a crowd person. Or a loud music and flashing lights person. Or a ‘sweaty awkward high school dance’ person. Actually, Charlie says fun isn’t really my—”

“You took pictures?” said Edward. My brows furrowed; I nodded. “Great. We’ll send them to Alice in an hour.”

“To—what? Why?”

“So she can send them to your father.” Edward leapt out of his seat, offering me his arm again. After I looped my arm through his, we began weaving through the halls of the hotel. That’s when he leaned in to explain: “So we have a paper trail. Alibis.”

 _So we weren’t staying for prom? Was that the plan?_ A jolt of nervous excitement washed away whatever relief I felt. My fingers curled tighter into his jacket. “F-For what?” _Please let it be what I think it is._

“Well,” he said, snaking an arm around my waist, “now we have the next several hours accounted for. As far as Charlie, the Cullens, and everyone else is concerned. Who knows what we could be doing, really.” Turning left into a corridor of private suits, Edward spun me so my back pressed against the wall. His hands settled on my cheek and my waist. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Say, dinner in Port Angeles. Or the drive-in in Tacoma. Or we can sneak into the library after hours, read their books, fill their donations box with cash. Or I can take you to the highest point in Washington for a candlelit picnic.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way. Anything. It’s yours. Say the word.”

A sort of incredulous laugh bubbled out of me. “No. You planned for all those different scenarios?”

Never in my life had I met someone who could successfully pull of a harebrained scheme.

“And more. I had to get creative to work around Alice. Lucky for me, the fancy outfits and makeup was enough of a distraction.” He pecked me on the cheek. “Our time is ours alone. I thought you might appreciate that, if not prom.”

Maybe he was different.

“Wow. You outsmarted the grandmaster, huh? Nice going.” He laughed. My eyes lit up; a crooked grin unfurled across my lips. “Now I’m gonna have to outsmart you. Balance things out a little.”

“Good luck.” Edward kissed the place where my jaw met my neck. “Your move, Swan.”

“Please. Like I need luck,” I gasped at his lips, lowering to a hush at the sound of other voices. “I’m the antipsychic; I can just—”

As Edward stiffened, our attention broke; we held our breath.

A disheveled teen couple wheeled into our hallway, questing for their own sliver of privacy, no doubt. They stopped at the sight of us, wide-eyed.

Our glares wiped the nervous smiles right off their faces. They bolted, whispering comments about us after they thought we couldn’t hear them.

When their voices faded, our attention drew back towards each other.

I knew what my answer would be, then. What would make us both happy.

To avoid his gaze, I reached up on a tiptoe to speak into his ear. “Take me to a place where you can’t hear anyone else but me.”

I couldn't hear a growl, but I could feel his chest rumble, hear his rough voice. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Isabella.” Each sentence he punctuated with dizzying kisses. “I’ll take you anywhere.” On my neck. “I’ll take you everywhere.” My jaw. “I’ll take you—” I kissed him quiet. His lips moved with mine; his cold hand tangled itself into my ringlet curls. I grabbed him by his undershirt and pulled myself closer to him. He broke. “—but first—"

“Oh, no,” I groaned against his lips, “ _no_.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

Through the haze of infatuation, I said, “Do too. ’But’?” I studied him. “You’ve, you, you’re gonna ask me for something! Aren’t you!” He laughed, wiping a trace of my lipstick from the corner of his cocky grin. “Ugh, I knew it. I could feel it in my bones. You’ll go anywhere with me, do anything with me, but? Okay? What’s the but?”

“But,” he said, “I’m not leaving until I get a dance with the most beautiful woman here.”

I smirked. “Fine, then. Go get her.”

He scowled. “Isabella Swan,” he said as if to lecture me.

Then he scooped me up into his arms bridal-style.

Giggles and protests burst from my lips but I couldn’t squirm out of his grip as he hauled me to the nearest exit. “I’m not, c’mon, please, I’ll look totally dumb, I can’t—”

We burst through the curtained French doors at the back of the club, into the dim, misty afterglow of evening. A stone path from the door led to a grand gazebo glittering with strings of warm incandescents. Out here, the gazebo’s speakers played the tame music that played over the rest of the club, some Frank Sinatra tune with a title I couldn’t remember.

Once we were under cover of the starry structure, Edward set me down on the parquet wood platform. “Do you know the waltz?” he asked me.

“One-two-three, one-two-three?”

“The steps. Do you know them?” I shook my head. “You’re lucky I do.” He scooped me back up without effort, pressed our bodies flush together, so my feet stood on his.

In the moment that our bare skin brushed, fingers enlaced, warm pinpricks of pleasure scattered through my veins. My heart hammered. If we still had the capacity to read each other’s moods, like before…

I wondered if he could feel how hopelessly in love with him I was.

Or what I was hoping tonight was about.

Damn, I hoped to high hell he couldn’t read me.

“Miss Swan, have I told you how beautiful you look this evening?”

Either way, I couldn’t look him in the eye to find out; I blushed too deeply.

Once the chorus hit, we moved. I glided with his smooth movements, weightless. It didn’t matter what steps I took. All I had to do was mold myself to him and follow his lead.

“So, is this what you think prom is?” I said. “Waltzing?”

“What, the kids these days don’t waltz?” Edward turned with me in a dizzying array of steps, the hand on my waist gentle as whispers. “Gee wilikers, what on earth would I do without you guiding me through your strange and exotic twenty-first century world?”

“Feels more like dragging than guiding.”

When he slowed into the next turn, I could see the last trickles of sunlight glint his hair red, see the stars in his ruddied eyes. Falling sunlight shattered against the surrounding forest; the only light spilling through peeked through the leaves and in-between the trunks.

Edward pecked me on the cheek. "Hm. Twilight, again," he murmured, watching the sun behind my shoulder. “No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end."

I followed his gaze, smile on my lips. “Twilight isn’t the end,” I said. “It’s the beginning.”

“Of night.” I nodded. “Cold. Darkness. Danger.”

“Fun. Mystery,” I added, grinning. He chuckled at my expression. “Preparing for the next, new day.” Edward had a small, flickering smile at that. Nothing more. A comfortable silence punctuated our conversation. Over the speakers, Billie Holiday’s ‘Solitude’ crooned softly. We slowed to its rhythm. “Hey. Can I ask you something?”

“Trade you an unedit for it.”

“Deal.” I smiled. With my hands locked around my neck and my feet on his, I could nestle my head into the crook of his neck while he held me to him. We breathed together, listening to the chorus. “Why did you bring me to prom? Really.”

He said, each word having been weighed against the last, "Because I want you to have fun.”

“Prom is fun?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

In our silence, I tried to sway my hips, at the very least, to keep some rhythm. And I waited for him to speak. But he never continued.

“Is that really the real unedit? I said. “I mean. I’m glad to be here with you. Don’t get me wrong. But. This isn’t really my scene. And…well, I know you’re not comfortable here. With all the, y’know—people. And their thoughts.”

“Forget about me. This night is about you. You’ll only have this opportunity once,” he said, softening at the end. “If you don’t want to be here, so be it. But I want you to have the option. I want to give you every experience possible—normal, happy, human experiences. You deserve it.” Beat. “You shouldn’t miss anything in this world on my account.”

 _Aha. The unedit._ “I’m not.”

“Maybe not now,” he said. “But. Not being able to be with you these last several weeks—to, to hold you…. There will be times when I can’t…some things I cannot…” For someone so willing to write himself off as lesser-than, Edward sure had a hard time admitting his shortcomings. “My darling, I want more for you than what I can give you.”

“It’s not enough to give me what I want?”

“I’m saying, you should have the choice. Always. You should never feel impeded. You should take everything you can from this life. Go everywhere, eat everything, conquer the world, live in the sun. Love. " Beat. "You should love.” The word floating, drifting through the air reminded me how silent forests could be. How something as soft as my hitched breathing could be heard by anyone. Vampire or human.

“I do,” I told him softly. _I love you._

He didn’t look at me now. As the song faded in Nina Simone’s ‘Lilac Wine,’ we slowed. Sunk into each other. Moments before I looked away in a blush, I stroked the nape of his cool neck with my thumb, wondering how—good this might feel. If…if we were touching. Like this. And he had his tangerine eyes. My tangerine eyes.

Edward brushed his cheek against mine. His lips were beside my ear. “Tell me something?”

“I dunno about that.”

“One thing.”

“No guarantees. But you can ask.”

It was a moment before he spoke again. “What did you think we were going to do, getting all dressed up like this on the night of senior prom?”

I stiffened. “Oh. I—I don’t know. I thought—I-I dunno—we were going somewhere to eat—or just, you know—”

“Edit.”

“Maybe we’d…practice. Getting closer. Like we talked about.” I shifted, antsy under his smoldering gaze. At least this was honest. "And I...I have something to tell you. And I thought, maybe, later..."

"Oh, yeah? Later? Later, what?" At my hesitance, he hummed a laugh into my temple, kissing me there. “Still editing—but this was much more convincing, I’ll admit.”

“Damn," I laughed, "Fine! Yes. I didn’t think we were going to some human prom, anyway. Like, I had fun; EDM’s not that—”

“Human.” His tone was flat. We had stopped moving.

 _Shit._ I looked down, sighing. “Yeah. But. Um. Unedit. I was hoping, maybe you had…changed your mind. About what we talked about. After the hospital. About—us being a team.”

“We are a team.”

“Being equals.”

“We are equals.

I frowned, clambering off his feet to stand on solid ground. “Edward. We clearly are not.”

“I disagree.” He moved to help support my weight, but I brushed him off.

“You rush in to save me every week while I’m stuck being the—" I broke off, frustrated. Refusing to look at him. “Anyway. I just, I thought, maybe…you would consider this as our long-term solution for my—everyone’s—safety. If, if I could be like you—equal—then…we wouldn’t have this problem. I could even save you.”

_Please Edward please consider it please I need protection I need help I can’t let everyone die—_

Anger and pain flickered across his face, but his voice was calm and firm. “If my answer last time was unclear: no. Bells. I’m not going to change you. Besides that being an impossible task for me, I do not consider you a problem to be solved. I'm rather upset that you do.”

“You already proved you could do it. It's not impossible.”

Edward exhaled heavy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. What happened between us, that bite, I— There is no logical explanation for why you’re alive right now, frankly. That would not happen again, ever, in any circumstance.”

“You—”

“Stopped, I know, I know, you say that, everyone’s saying that. But I don’t— I was not the hero, contrary to popular belief. What happened, then—that bite was unlike anything I ever— Carlisle must have pulled me off. It would not happen again.”

“It doesn't have to be you. I’m only asking you to consider it.” _I’m only asking you for help._

“And I’m asking you to not.”

After a moment where we both thought to ourselves, the furrow in his brow dissolved. He cached whatever pain he felt under an amused smile. Edward held out his hand to me.

I tried not to pout with those red lips of mine when I took it.

"So. To clarify. You thought this would be a black-tie affair?" he teased, touching the lapel of his tuxedo jacket as we walked into the night, towards the car.

I flushed. “Listen, okay: you said so yourself vampires were intrinsically sexy. I just, I dunno, figure the rituals would be equally sexy.”

“ _Rituals_?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“You’re profiling again, you know."

I sighed. “Right. I know. You’re right. Seems more rational than prom, anyway. Changing me.” Edward laughed. Heat rose into my cheeks. "I wish you wouldn’t laugh. It’s not funny.”

"No. You're right. It's not funny," he agreed, his smile fading. "I'd rather treat it like a joke, though, than believe you're serious."

Anger burned my bones. "I am serious. You don’t even—"

No. He didn’t understand.

And I couldn’t be angry at him for that.

Not only had he lived the last century as an immortal, indestructible being with little memory of what mortality felt like, but he didn’t know—I never told him about…what happened. With...Victoria. And Caitlin.

Because truth hurts and I can’t—I can't—

I don’t know how to make it go away.

I can’t make it go away.

It hurts.

God. It's terrifying. And I just,

I don’t know what to do, don’t know what I’m gonna do, oh my god, I don’t…

…how could you put that on another person?

It’s not right. It’s not fair. To anyone.

So until I could figure out, I figured, I would rather have it hurt me alone than hurt the both of us. It was the sensible thing to do.

Because I couldn’t. Inflict the pain.

Edward pressed himself to me, and my heartbeat pulsed hard enough for the two of us, for him to feel it through his coat. He slowed.

After a moment, he stopped and twirled me in font of him, holding me by the waist. I walked backwards as he held me. “Alright. You are serious. Suppose, then, that this dream of yours has come true. You're saying you’d be ready? Tonight?"

I kept walking. “Yes.”

In that moment, I could be firm. I saw everything on the line. My life, my future, my protection. My revenge. My love.

Vampirism was the key, and Edward held it.

He smiled.

We stumbled off the sidewalk, into the underbrush of the forest. The blue shawl slipped from my shoulders; I pressed my bare back against the dewy tree trunk behind me.

It felt warm against my scars.

Edward inclined his head at a humans pace until his cold lips brushed against the skin just under the corner of my jaw.

"Right now?" he whispered, his breath blowing cool on my neck. I shivered. “You wouldn’t have the chance to see Charlie or Rene again.”

He was bluffing. Of course he was bluffing. What was he gonna do, bite me here, at prom, with hundreds of people meters away?

"Yes," I whispered, so my voice wouldn't have a chance to break.

A single finger trailed up the length of my throat, prompting me to tilt my head back. I lost my breath.

“The cervical vertebra is a delicate thing,” he whispered, stroking it as he kissed me. “I might snap it accidentally.”

“Venom will heal me.”

“After three to five days of excruciating pain, of course.”

“I’ll take a sick day Monday.”

Then, in an even lower, dry-throated whisper, nipping at my earlobe: “And tell me: what if I end up drinking every last drop of you before it’s all over?”

Heat bloomed in my center; I shuddered against him. “I trust you.”

It didn't matter that my body trembled against him, my hands balled into fists, my breathing erratic.

Fangs ghosted over my neck; I jolted and gasped.

He pulled away with a hollow chuckle.

"So quick to give away your humanity. You can’t really believe I would give in, would you? After that whole overwrought speech about giving you happy human memories?" he said with a sour edge to his mocking tone.

"I didn’t believe it,” I panted. “But a girl can dream."

_A girl can pray every second of every day that nothing worse happens in the meantime because of her._

His voice never rose above a murmur. "Is that what you dream about? Being a monster?"

“I dream about being with you.” _And being you._

“Then I’m sorry we’ve reached an impasse.” We looked at each other then, and though his statement hurt the both of us, neither of us said a word. His thumb brushed my cheek. “You are perfect beyond words, to me. Just as you are. Isn’t that enough?”

"Enough for now."

"Enough for forever.”

My vampire leaned down and pressed his cold lips to my throat.

**

end of book 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> well. we’re done. we made it. thank you for all for your time, attention, comments, and kudos.  
> & a special THANK YOU!!!!!<3 to all those who have stuck with this story early on, who commented steadily even in my less-fabulous chapters. you know who you are. i see you all, and i appreciate what you have to say. thank you, thank you, thank you.  
> i can’t tell you the gratitude & joy i feel for the support. i just hope you had as much fun reading it as you did writing it.  
> thoughts?? let me know! team edward, team jacob? do we want lemons/fluff/outtakes or nah? what’s the end game for bella? if y’all have questions, critiques, or suggestions for what you want to see—scenes, plot points, characters, etc—now is the time to tell me. i hope y’all will be just as excited as i am for what comes next :)
> 
> what’s next? an interlude series set after twilight & before new moon. it will be the precursor to the sequel, uh, [insert title here lmao idk what the fuck i’m gonna call this, do i look like a writer to u???]
> 
> but, here’s the deal: the landlord told me last week they gotta sell. i have to be out by the end of 2020. 
> 
> so pls wait while i skedaddle: _Interlude in Eventide_ will be released **january 24th, 2021.**
> 
> if you wanna keep in touch, i'm fuckmeyer on tumblr.  
> in the meantime, happy holidays. stay safe. & thank you.  
> see you on the other side.  
> :)


End file.
